


dark reflections

by lionsenpai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9334430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: The underbelly of Lothering was a mix of stale and sickly. A quiet rot that infected the lungs, lined them with tar, and steeped every breath with the understanding: this is it, this is all there is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> commissioned by imrryr over on tumblr! hope you like it :)

The bar oozed.

Stagnant as standing water, the air tasted of cigarettes and regret. The jukebox in the corner skipped and scratched, but most of all it _settled._ Slow notes bore down, heads dropped, and scarce conversation fettered off with every new song. No sense of joy could withstand it, and the patrons all accepted this as they accepted their drinks: soberly but without reluctance.

The underbelly of Lothering was a mix of stale and sickly. A quiet rot that infected the lungs, lined them with tar, and steeped every breath with the understanding: _this is it, this is all there is._

To Leliana, who skated its edges on her best days and indulged in too many of its vices on her worst, it was beginning to feel more and more like home. She occupied one of the seats at the bar and nursed a scotch in one hand, her other playing a tightly folded slip of paper across scuffed knuckles. Appropriately, her jacket was worn with use, the shoulders damp from the rain outside. The revolver strapped beneath her arm was loaded.

To be in such a place, to call it her base of operations - she should have sought out any Sister who would still see her and beg repentance.

But there weren’t any Sisters who were likely to see her anyway.

Leliana dipped her head a little lower. The wafting smoke in the air couldn’t mask the smell of scotch. She swallowed thickly and felt the phantom burn of it in her throat.

Whiskey had never been her drink of choice, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t do in a pinch.

Witch Hunting usually left no room for indulgences, but the slip of paper in her hand - a promissory note from the hands of Mother Gywn herself - was proof of a job well done and payment to come. It wasn’t in her best interests to waste the measly sum gained from her latest job, but visits to the Chantry always left her aching for the taste of cheap spirits.

Knocking back her scotch and exhaling heat and relief, Leliana signaled for another and rubbed at her eyes. Cassandra’s face still flashed through her mind, Mother Dorothea’s following in quick succession. Even if they would never even hear of the little Chantry in a town like Lothering, the end of every job always carried the fear that they would be the ones to greet her on the steps, that they would be there to recognize her.

Another drink hit the bar in front of her, and Leliana sucked in a sharp breath, flexing her fingers and feeling the old pains in each joint. Each scarred finger wrapped around the glass, and she drained it as quickly as she had the first and then stood up.

“My tab,” she told the bartender, who grunted at her from behind the bar but said nothing else.

No one raised their head as she hugged the walls and made for the door at the edge of the room. Slipping through it, Leliana found herself in the tight quarters of a staircase, the dreary notes from the jukebox drifting through the thin walls.

Above the bar were a dozen small apartments and offices, hers among them.  

As she began the climb to the fourth floor, the stairs creaked beneath her with every step. Witch Hunting might have been a lucrative - and legal - business now that the Chantry had officiated it, but Leliana still lived job to job. While apostates didn’t fear the public burnings that threatened them in the past, but the Chantry had its own share of horror stories. Just the word _Tranquil_ made them jump, and scared apostates were careful apostates.

Combined with the advertised bounties on every apostate or enchanted item brought in, there were twice as many Hunters now as there had been ten years ago. In a small town like Lothering, that meant business couldn’t do more than crawl.

It was bad news for Leliana, who had _seen_ Tranquils while she’d been a Sister and didn’t have the stomach for turning over apostates themselves. She was left to eke out a living on the scraps given to those who would do the Maker’s work and hunt down the scourge of magic, even if that only meant collecting bounties on enchanted items too dangerous to exist outside of Chantry control.

Whiskey burned in her gut as she crested the final step to the landing. Her door was one of two, the glass on it detailed with a cheap, crooked lettering job. _MAGIC REMOVAL SERVICE_ was printed in thin black font. She didn’t dare add her name beneath it.

Digging in her jacket pocket - the wrong pocket at first, her finger closing around magic-resistant handcuffs instead of keys - Leliana turned the key. But the lock didn’t click. There was no resistance at all, even when she tried the deadbolt. Unlocked?

She stood there a moment, not moving. When she’d moved in, she’d covered the glass window with thick black material, but as she peered at the edges, she could see the faint glow of light from the other side.

Someone inside? This part of town wasn’t known for its lawfulness, but there weren’t any signs of breaking and entering. Leliana was well acquainted with the sort of person who could slip into a locked room without leaving a trace, but she’d been careful. Lothering was a blip on the map. If she’d been found even here… Her hand tightened around the doorknob.

The crescent moon was only a small comfort. Even if apostates would see their magic fizzle and wane, guns and knives worked with the same, perfect lethality regardless of the phase of the moon.

And if she was being honest, the nights she couldn’t sleep were haunted by steel and smiles, not spells.

Reaching for the revolver tucked beneath her arm as she turned the doorknob, Leliana brandished it openly, her heart jack-hammering in her chest. She’d only had a two drinks, but they roiled violently in her stomach now, threatening to return.

The door flung open with the clatter of the knob against the drywall, the room dim in the weak light of her desk’s lamp. It was enough to see the shapes within easily, Leliana’s eyes flickering across them until finally landing upon the one which sent a lance of cold terror through her heart.

Swathed in shadows, the form of a woman claimed Leliana’s own chair, her hands folded on top of the desk. A black, floppy hat obscured all but the red shape of her lips, quirking into a smile.

_My Leliana, my pretty thing._

“Are you Leliana?”

The question carried a deep, rolling timbre - no trace of the Orlesian lilt Leliana expected - and when she glanced up from beneath the brim of her hat, Leliana realized she didn’t recognize her.

Someone else. Someone she hadn’t been expecting.

“Yes.” The barrel of her gun stayed leveled on the woman. “And you’re trespassing.”

The intruder’s eyes flickered to the gun in her hands, her smile faltering slightly. Gold bracelets flashed at her wrists when she unlaced her gloved fingers and began to rise slowly. Even if every move was clearly telegraphed, the woman was still lucky Leliana had a steady trigger-finger. A jumpier person would have filled her with holes.  

Taking this for granted, the woman smoothed her palm over the manilla folder on the desk and said, “I was under the impression this was an office for business.”

“Is your business robbery?” Leliana countered, examining the figure for hidden weapons. “The door was locked.”

Dark fabric clung to the woman’s form in a tight sheath, broadcasting every curve and making concealment impossible. A high slit rose along one stocking-clad thigh, baring it for inspection and revealing nothing but the edge of a garter. Black, lace. Leliana pursed her lips, and after a long moment, she forced her gaze up to the woman’s bust instead. But there was no place to hide a knife when her neckline cut between her breasts, pale skin smooth and unblemished.

Leliana bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze only shifting when the woman moved, raising her hands to remove her hat. It was discarded on the desk with a smile, and for the first time, Leliana got an unobstructed view of her face.

Smoky eyes, full lips, and straight teeth. Dark features made darker by the poor lighting, but no less beautiful for it.

“I would be an exceptionally poor burglar considering I waited for you to return.” Golden eyes narrowed fractionally, the woman’s tone growing sharper. “Your door was open when I came to it.”

Leliana’s brow knitted. She was sure she’d locked the door before. Had she really been that careless? Incrementally, the barrel of her gun lowered.

“Do you hold all of your clients at gunpoint on the first meeting?”

“Only the suspicious ones.” Even so, she lowered her revolver the rest of the way, holding it by her side. That she didn’t holster it didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re the first.”

“Client?” One dark brow arched.

“Person held at gunpoint.” A lie, but an effortless one. Leliana stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her, but there was still no sign of additional intruders. “But I don’t usually do work for people.”

The woman clicked her tongue. “Yes, I’ve heard the Chantry employs your services primarily.”

Glancing to the adjacent doors and finding them all dark and empty, Leliana allowed her gaze to drift back to the woman, fixating on the gold pendant hanging between her breasts. Alone and unarmed on the night of the waning crescent? Either she was exactly what she claimed or a poor assailant.

Or perhaps simply a messenger.

Stopping on the other side of her own desk, Leliana said, “You’ve heard a lot. You even know my name.”

“I like to be well-informed before meeting someone.”

Leliana could sympathize, but being caught on the other end of it was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. “You have me at quite the disadvantage.”

The woman smiled, and nothing about it was disarming. Rather, it seemed to invite something, though Leliana wasn’t sure _what._ “And you’re still brandishing a weapon.”

“I am.” Without holstering her revolver, Leliana extended her other hand. “You said you were waiting for me. Here I am. Introductions first, please.”

The woman rolled her eyes, but offered her gloved hand. “Morrigan.”

“A pleasure, Morrigan.” Leliana caught her above the wrist, fingers closing like a vice around her forearm. When Morrigan sneered and tried to pull away, Leliana only squeezed harder, holding her in place. “Tell me: did Marjolaine send you?”

Taking the Chantry from her, forcing Leliana to cling to its fringes in a backwater place like Lothering - it would never be enough. The final ploy was always Leliana’s life.

In all her nightmares, it had always been Marjolaine who dealt the final blow. Her death was a prize Marjolaine would never relinquish to anyone else, the final piece of her to claim in their agonizing game. But that didn’t mean she was above using others to force Leliana into the open, and everything about Morrigan screamed _lure._

That pretty face twisted up now, but even with aching joints, Leliana possessed more strength than Morrigan. She tugged her closer, hissing, “If she sent you here to - ”

Sparks erupted in the space between them, electric and sudden, and Leliana stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the chair behind her. Half-blind, she raised her revolver instinctively, her pulse thundering in her ears. The air tasted of lightning and magic.

When the spots from her vision cleared, Morrigan was there, cradling her still sparking palm close to her chest. Where Leliana had grabbed her, there were red imprints of her fingers.

Morrigan’s expression was sharp and reproachful. “Do _not_ touch me again.”

Leliana stiffened. That explained the door. _“Apostate.”_

“I was warned you’d be cautious, not paranoid,” Morrigan retorted, just as accusing.

The sparks finally died, but in their absence, the faint glow of a magic circle bled through Morrigan’s dark glove. Drawn on? Or tattooed? It shouldn’t have mattered. On the waning crescent, any magic should have been near impossible, no matter the quality of the circle.

“Why are you here?” Apostates didn’t seek out Witch Hunters, even the ones like Leliana who dealt exclusively in artefacts. Revealing herself so recklessly… Was it naivety or confidence?

“ _The Warden_ believes you’re the person I need, though I’m beginning to question their judgement.” Morrigan’s eyes flashed over the revolver, lips twisting with displeasure. “Put that away before you get hurt.”

The demand had no traction, but Leliana froze at the mention of the Warden.

“Mahariel?” Leliana trusted scarce few with her location, but among them, the Warden was paramount. They had been the one to smuggle Leliana from her Orlesian jail cell across the border into Ferelden. “ _They_ sent you here?”

“They told me about your work. Not your magic removal service. Before that.” Morrigan rounded the desk, fearless even despite the barrel still levelled at her. “Infiltrating the Chantry. Stealing secrets. Stealing artefacts.”

The scotch from earlier was roiling in her gut again, sour to the point of sickness. Hearing someone else say it was different from knowing it herself. Leliana’s inside churned and churned, her ribs closing tighter around her lungs, the memories of that time tangling in her throat. She wanted a drink. She wanted to escape.

But no matter how much she wanted, she couldn’t outrun the past. Whatever she did, it wouldn’t change the fact that once upon a time, she had played people just because she could. It wouldn’t change the fact that once upon a time, a single woman had been her whole world, and when that woman had asked her to play the Chantry itself, she had only laughed and thought what fun it might be.

She’d fed information about suspected apostates and enchanted items, allowing Marjolaine to collect the bounties on the apostates and the artefacts themselves. She’d loved the thrill of it.

At least until she’d met Cassandra, so stubbornly devote that even Leliana began to experience faith as more than just a charade. She’d felt it. She’d felt the Maker’s warmth, and she’d thought that perhaps there could be more, perhaps she could be more - that had been the moment her life had crumbled around her.

Marjolaine didn’t take well to refusals, even if she’d met Leliana’s reluctance to continue spying with a smile and a promise all was well.

She’d smiled the same way when she watched Leliana carted off in chains, standing at the side of the Revered Mother. Between her fingers, Marjolaine had been holding the dozens of letters they’d exchanged, her own name and involvement neatly removed, the proof of a hundred crimes against the Chantry all that remained.

If it hadn’t been for Mahariel and that Crow they kept around them, that would have been the end of Leliana.

“I need someone with your skills,” Morrigan said, returning her to the present with a hiss. Thin fingers played over the barrel of Leliana’s revolver, pushing it down. She wasn’t sure when Morrigan had gotten that close, but now she face to face with her. “And I think you need me. After all, we’re both after the same thing: we want to get out from beneath the thumb of someone who thinks they _own_ us.”

Leliana stared up at Morrigan, the subtle height difference between them more apparent now, so close. There was an guarded interest in those golden eyes now, the same kind Leliana was sure was reflected back in her own eyes.

After a beat, Morrigan said, “I might not have come on behalf of Marjolaine, but she’s still _why_ I’m here. She stole something from me, and from what I’ve heard, no one knows her better than you do.”

“I never knew _her,”_ Leliana corrected immediately. “But I know how she works.”

“She runs the most prevalent underground exchange for illegal artefacts in Ferelden and Orlais combined. I suspect there would be a hefty reward to be gained from turning in the things in her stores,” Morrigan told her. “Not to mention to chance to meet her face to face. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s revenge, and if I were you, I would be seeking that instead of holing up in a city like Lothering.”

_Instead of hiding like a coward._

Leliana pushed past Morrigan to stand over her desk, feeling that same sickness in her gut as before. She felt light-headed. Just the thought of confronting Marjolaine filled her with a potent, conflicting mixture: icy cold fear and feverish anger both. Somewhere behind her, Morrigan seemed to sense it.

With a scoff, Morrigan strode forward, the hairs on the back of Leliana’s neck prickling to attention as she stopped right at her back.

The weight of a palm settled over Leliana’s spine, right between her shoulder blades. At her shoulder, Morrigan gave a hum of consideration before reaching for the hat she’d taken off earlier.

“Well, Mahariel also warned you might prefer your current situation,” she said, so close that Leliana could feel the warmth of her breath at her ear. Leliana stiffened, but didn’t move. “I left an address I’ll be staying at in the folder there.”

One finger tapped at the manilla folder left on the desk, and Leliana stared down at it.

“As well as some of the information I’ve been able to track down myself. I’ll be in town for the next two days, but after that, I’m moving on. If you decide you’re interested, come see me before then.”

There was a moment of pause, and then she was gone, crossing the room so quickly that the door closed behind her before Leliana could bring herself to stop her.

Alone, she was left with the scent of stale cigarettes and the folder on her desk.

Taking a deep breath, she flipped it open, the very first page showcasing a black and white photo of Marjolain, her smile as lethal and stunning as Leliana remembered it.

_Revenge._

It was tempting. _Morrigan_ was tempting. Something in Leliana warned that was exactly the reason she needed to stay as far from her as possible and stick to her cover. The last three years had been quiet decay, but they had been _quiet,_ and Leliana knew the dangers that came nipping at the heels of women who looked and spoke like Morrigan did.

Leliana rubbed her forehead, covered her eyes, and whispered, _“Maker,_ I need a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [some mood music for you to enjoy!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKRDTUwdVWg)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates owed entirely to imrryr over on tumblr, who has been so, so patient with me getting to his commission! you guys can thank him for the 3-4 new chapters that'll be coming out (hopefully) pretty soon!!!

The front stoop light was on when Leliana arrived, her boots still carrying the slick mix of grease and oil that still covered the streets like a film from the recent rain. It was a perfectly plain door, attached to a perfectly miserable little series of rooms for rent in the heart of Lothering, but Leliana still stopped before she reached the top step.

It was as much for her nerves as it was to finish the rest of her cigarette. Though she'd watched Morrigan leave earlier, a stubborn, fragile part of her still maintained there was plenty to be concerned about while breaking in. A ripple of tension ran through the muscles in her shoulders as she tilted her head back and released a stream of smoke, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath her heel.

An automobile roared down the street and disappeared around a corner, and Leliana took that as a sign to swallow her hesitations and get moving, her hand drifting to the breast pocket of her blazer for the tools secreted away there.

The lock gave swiftly to the subtle encouragement of Leliana’s picks, but this side of town was better known for bats kept by bedsides than bolts that kept people out anyway. Slipping her lockpicks back into blazer, Leliana cast a final, watchful glance over her shoulder, spying nothing on the street.

Then she let herself in, her eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom of the interior. The last, hazy rays of light filtered through the broken slates of the blinds, revealing a living room bare of all but the essentials. A beaten couch which had seen its fair share of use was backed against the wall, lined on either side with a short table, and across the room a small television sprouting two long antennae sat upon a squat little desk.

Not the sort of thing that screamed _assassin,_ but one could never be too careful.

“Alright,” Leliana murmured to herself, reaching into her sleeve and withdrawing a thin, stiletto blade that was nearly the length of her forearm. “Let’s see what you have here.”

An initial check of the dagger revealed nothing magical in the area, the Lyrium plated blade humming faintly, same as it always did. Leliana withheld her surprise and got right into the business of inspecting the room the old-fashioned way, pulling up cushions and feeling for areas in the carpet which has been ripped up to conceal something beneath.

She checked the ripped underside of the sofa. She checked the hollow spaces of the little desk. She ran her fingers along the edges of the ceiling fan overhead, and when she found nothing but dust each time, she continued on into the kitchen, searching every nook and cranny in a way only her experienced hands could manage.

Though she wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for, she knew Marjolaine’s employees enjoyed a certain access to two things: poisons and magical artefacts. That she had yet to find either was as much a comfort as it was disconcerting.

After all, even if Leliana was almost positive the woman who had approached her—Morrigan— wasn’t one of Marjolaine’s, the very cynical and very cautious part of her still doubted. The only small comfort to be taken was that Morrigan knew Mahariel by name, and that in and of itself was a feat very few managed. If they knew Morrigan, and if they trusted her enough to send her on to Leliana, she might actually be trying to move against Marjolaine.

The thought was as thrilling as it was terrifying, especially when she was offering Leliana the chance to join her.

Pushing the thought aside—she needed to be thorough here, and following what-ifs and maybes down a thousand different paths would make her anything but—Leliana set herself to her task. If nothing else, she wanted to know as much about her prospective partner as possible before throwing years of hiding to the wind.

The kitchen yielded the same as the living room, which was to say nothing at all, and that trend persisted through her search of the bathroom. The minute Leliana stepped into the bedroom, however, the Lyrium plating her blade began to hum more insistently, like a tuning fork touched with a faint melody.

Now she onto something.

There was a suitcase in the corner, and Leliana tore through the clothes and travel necessities within, leaving knock-off Orlesian styles and nightclothes in heaps on the ground. A sense of urgency made her too rough, tossing things around, but she was desperate to find whatever ti was in this room.

It wasn’t until Leliana located a particular slat beneath the bed’s frame that, when moved, showed a hidden compartment carved into the box spring itself that she found what she was looking for.

Carefully, so as not to upset the ginger seals on each potion, Leliana removed two, humming vials of a mercurious blue liquid from the compartment. They were wrapped in rags to subdue the subtle glow, but Leliana would recognize liquid Lyrium anywhere.

Sweeping her hand along the inside of the compartment, Leliana was disappointed to find nothing else within. Had she not already known Morrigan was a mage, this would have been quite the find, but she hadn’t forgotten the way sparks have erupted between them, even on the night of the waning crescent.

Had she taken Lyrium before that? It could have explained the spell when all magic should have been rendered inert, but a single dosage of Lyrium was worth hundreds of sovereigns on the black market—and not at all worth the little display she’d made.

It didn’t make sense, but Leliana didn’t have the pieces to puzzle it out—for now. Withdrawing from beneath the bed with the two potions in hand, she stood over the bed, staring down at her Lyrium blade as though hoping for something more.

There _had_ to be something more.

But her blade revealed nothing more, its melody seeming to find resonance in the liquid Lyrium. With a tight lipped frown, Leliana spun on her heel, returning to her search with a new determination.

Ripping through the rest of the room, her inspection came up with nothing else of note, but Leliana lingered in the room for some time, revisiting spots she’d already checked. By the time she finally abandoned the task as futile and returned to the kitchen, those last rays of light through the blinds had long since disappeared. Hitting the light switch, she set the potions down on the table and yanked out the seat behind them, settling in with a huff.

Coming here, she’d hoped to find something to pin Morrigan down, to discover a sign of her allegiance or goals. Instead, she’d found nothing but confirmations of things she already knew, which left her where she began: in the dark.

Running her fingers through her coppery hair, Leliana bowed her head, brow knitted in consternation. “Alright,” she said aloud, for no one but herself. “Alright.”

Lyrium, a knack for spells, and a target painted in red on the most prevalent artefact dealer in Thedas. That should have been enough intrigue for anyone, but Leliana still felt like she was missing something.

Rising so quickly she nearly knocked over the chair she was in, she stalled all at once, realizing she didn’t know what her next step was. Another search? Pointless. If nothing else, her work hunting down hidden magical artefacts for the Chantry had kept her skills sharp. She was sure she didn’t miss anything.

She could disappear, but what would this have all been for? The entire reason she’d come was to find answers, and leaving empty-handed didn’t sit right with her.

But neither did meeting Morrigan again, not when she still couldn’t be sure where her allegiances lay.

Touching her face was the clearest sign of anxiety a person like Leliana looked for in others, but no matter how well she knew it, she couldn’t help it now. Rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes, she took deep breaths, blinking away the bleary vision and staring down at her hands like they had the answers for her.

Then, as though Maker-sent, she did remember one more option left to her.

A quick scan of the kitchen confirmed what she was hoping for: there was a phone.

It was an old, decrepit thing that made her office phone look glamorous, but it was the last thread she could pull on before being forced to admit defeat. A beat of hesitation passed when she lifted it from the receiver, but then she began to dial in the number, the dial tone ringing in her ear.

Eyes closing, Leliana counted each ring, hoping. On the third, she heard the other line crackle with life, the voice familiar. “Hello?”

“Zevran,” Leliana said, something in her fracturing at the sound of his voice. Panicked words spilled from her lips: “Please don’t hang up. It’s me.”

“Leliana?” Zevran’s tone was the farthest thing from desperate, affection bleeding through. She could almost see the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners, white teeth flashing in a handsome smile. “I was wondering when I would hear from you. How are things there?”

“How do you think?” Leliana felt herself smile in return, a pale and shaky reflection. Leaning heavily against the wall, she grasped the phone with two hands. “Morrigan. She’s not with Marjolaine?”

“No,” Zevran confirmed. The relief of hearing that one simple word flooded her, and the weight of that question leaving Leliana manifested in the slump of her shoulders, tension bleeding out. “I warned Mahariel you would think that.”

“Thank the Maker,” Leliana sighed, feeling her knees begin to buckle and allowing herself to slide down against the wall until she was seated on the kitchen floor. The phone’s cable was pitifully short, but it allowed her this at least. Clutching the phone like a lifeline, she felt the beginning of a laugh evaporate in her throat before it could truly form. “You couldn’t have sent that in a note?”

“You would have believed a note?”

“No,” Leliana said. “Not at all. I tried to call you, though. Where have you _been?”_

The last two days had been a flurry of uncertainty and sleepless nights, but most importantly of all, it had been the first time she’d been unable to get ahold of either Zevran or Mahariel.

“Ah, that, yes.” A pause, filled by the contemplative hum on the other end of the line. “A bit of excitement, nothing more.”

It wasn’t often Zevran had so little to say about something.

“Is everything alright?” Leliana asked.

“Nothing to worry yourself about, my dear. More importantly, how is Morrigan?”

Having a sense for stories meant knowing when there was more to one than someone was letting on, and Leliana felt that keenly now. “That sounds suspiciously like you aren’t telling me something, Zevran.”

“Leliana, you wound me. Would I lie to you?” A brief pause, during which Leliana hoped Zevran was imagining the look she would have liked to give him. Then: “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Besides, you didn’t call to talk about me.”

That was true, but a pang of guilt still prodded at Leliana’s guts. Promising herself she’d ask more about it later and pulling her knees up to her chest, Leliana said, “I broke into where she’s staying and searched the place.”

A sharp beat of laughter. “Off to a marvelous beginning, then!”

Had they been truly together and not separated by a continent, Leliana would have taken this chance to elbow him in the ribs. Instead, she conceded a soft laugh and retorted, “Hush! What would you have done if someone showed up and asked you to help them dismantle the Crows?”

“Honestly? Laughed in their face and allow them to get themselves killed.”

“Oh, I tried that. She brought me a folder, and I shredded it.” The idea had been to prevent herself from second-guessing, but it had only taken a couple of hours before she’d returned to the bin where she’d thrown the scraps and begun to piece the dossier back together. “I should have burned it.”

“Leliana, I am disappointed in you. You are well past that sort of rookie mistake.” A sigh, more theatrical than strictly necessary. “Well, you were always kinder than I… Or perhaps it’s your weakness for a pretty face at play. She is rather beautiful, isn’t she?

Mustering a bit of indignation—Maker, how ridiculous, to be arguing this with Zevran now when only minutes ago she’d been close to tearing her hair out—Leliana said, “I’m offended you think that’s all it takes to sway me. Besides, you’re one to talk!”

“This again, eh? Well, need I remind you, I was not the only one infatuated with our charming Warden friend. As I recall, you were quite taken with them.”

“As _I_ recall, _you_ were the only one writing poetry.”

“A low blow!” Any attempt at sounding wounded was ruined by his laughter. “I shared that with you in confidence!”

“And I did not share it with them, even given the _many_ opportunities.” On the dirty kitchen floor of an apartment she did not own, Leliana found herself laughing. Surreal as it was, it was the first time in days she’d felt so good, her ribcage not threatening to snap closed on her innards like a bear trap. Tilting her head to the side to rest her cheek on the top of her knee, she admitted, “Zevran, I have missed you.”

It was so clear in her mind’s eye: Zevran, reclining across a chair in the most ostentatious way possible, playing with a blade in his off-hand. How many times had they spoken like this before?

“And I, you. It has been far too long, Leliana.” Warmth bubbled in her chest. “But we were discussing something else, were we not?”

“Yes,” Leliana said, though she was sorry to have to return to more serious matters. “Morrigan.”

“Yes, Morrigan,” Zevran agreed. “So much potential, but alas, she was raised in a swamp.”

“Not her looks, Zevran.” A beat passed. “A swamp? Really?”

“Really. Would you like to know more?” Zevran was eager as he always was when there was a joke to be had at someone else’s expense. “I’ve only coaxed a few stories from our lovely Warden, but I assure you—”

“Another time.” The words were muffled into her knees as Leliana smothered her smirk, Zevran shooting back a _spoilsport._ No matter how much time passed, Zevran would always be himself, and there was a great deal of comfort in knowing that. Still, more pressingly was:  “How does she know the Warden?”

Giving a final _hmph_ to ensure his disappointment was received, Zevran answered, “A mutual acquaintance. Another Warden, so I hear.”

That was something of a surprise. The Wardens were a secretive bunch, made more secretive by the last Blight scare. A veritable shame upon the whole order, at the time it had set them all up in arms about the final coming of the last Blight. The hysteria had been rampant, with soothsayers crying for the end of the world and some members of the church defecting to proclaim the Maker was returning to take them all into the Golden City.

Every country in Thedas had funneled the Wardens supplies and support, all while bolstering their own armies in preparation for the end.

Only, when the chaos had finally started to abate and there proved to be no Archdemon, the Wardens slunk back to their corners of the world, licking their wounds and nursing their pride.

A terrible blow for the Wardens—who had already been foretelling the final Blight for centuries now—but for Leliana, it had been life changing. That call to arms that had been the reason she’d met Mahariel and Zevran to begin with. Had the Chantry not offered its assistance with the Blight, she would have never been assigned to work with them.

“I assume this was before the scare,” Leliana said.

“Mm. Around the time you and I met. Apparently, she worked with another Warden in close contact with our dear friend. Had things been slightly different, we might have called her comrade.”

Leliana paused, honing in on the note of dissonance in _comrade._ “Should I be concerned you said it like that?”

“Mahariel trusts her. Normally, that would be enough for me.” That it wasn’t was as much a shock as it was a concern. Zevran had followed Mahariel down into the Deep Roads and up into the Chantry tower cell which had held Leliana. As far as Leliana knew, if Mahariel wanted to breach the Fade itself, Zevran would be right at their side. “I simply wonder. These artifacts she seeks—are they truly worth the risk?”

“You think she’s hiding something?”

“I think we all hide things, Leliana. But some of us have more to hide than others.” He exhaled, not quite a sigh. “It would be wise not to trust her too deeply, I think.”

“Yes, I got that impression.” Liars knew their ilk, and if both she and Zevran thought there was more to Morrigan, well… She was inclined to go with her gut. “I was hoping to find something by coming here, but…”

“Nothing?”

She sighed. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

"Hm," Zevran murmured, thoughtful. “Would it help to know she owns a Mabari named Gushy?”

Leliana’s head shot up from her knees. There certainly wasn’t a Mabari here now, but had she known that Morrigan owned one, she might have thought twice about breaking and entering. “Would have been nice to know earlier… Gushy? Really?”

“Charming, no?” Zevran chuckled. “She left him with us after we pointed her to you, and he has been an insufferable mope without her.”

“Very helpful.” Leliana brushed her hair back from her face. “But I was hoping for more—”

From somewhere beyond the kitchen, there was a rattle of a doorknob, and Leliana jolted as though struck by lightning. Shooting to her feet, Leliana barely avoided smacking her head against the wall receiver, a muted sound of alarm slipping from her lips.

Zevran’s voice sounded far off. “Leliana?”

“I’ll have to call you back,” Leliana hissed, freezing halfway through slamming the phone down on the receiver. Then, “Thank you, Zevran.”

Then she hung up without waiting to hear the answer, scrambling back toward the table just as the door creaked open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you: zevran and leliana werent even super close in origins? what do you mean theyre friends here????  
> me, blasting bubblegum bitch at full volume and imaging the shenanigans they got into: ROGUE SOLIDARITY
> 
> no morrigan this chapter but they dont call me kc 'slowburn' nabaat for nothing :j


	3. Chapter 3

Stillness settled with the weight of stones after the door swung open. 

Leliana hadn’t been cautious. She hadn’t really even tried, tunnel vision leaving her blind to everything but Morrigan’s allegiance. The cigarette by the stoop, the door left unlocked… Nevermind that the kitchen bulb hummed steadily overhead, the light washing out into the living room.

The calculations were simple and unpleasant: there was no way to salvage this. 

At least not stealthily. 

Her only boon was that the person at the door seemed as surprised as she was, and that gave her a moment to collect herself. Straightening to her full height and schooling the shock from her expression, Leliana heard the first step from the adjacent room. 

Heels. The stride was slow and long and approaching by the second. 

Just before they were upon her, her eyes dropped to the table where her stiletto dagger still sat. Secreting it back into her sleeve in the blink of an eye, she set her hands comfortably atop the back of the chair the split-second before a shape appeared at the door. 

It could have been a shade emerging from the shadows of the living room, but some deft part of her mind recognized the human beneath. In a long, dark coat, Morrigan appeared, her features half concealed beneath a mauve scarf thrown up over her black hair. 

Her stance was wide, her jaw taut. Golden eyes blazed with the intensity of stars. 

And then she recognized Leliana. 

The traces of it vanished so quickly that Leliana blinked and found herself looking at a different person. Shoulders relaxed. Her lips parted. Instead of fury, she found only slow forming understanding in those eyes. 

“Not who you were expecting?”

It took a moment for Leliana to realize the words were hers, but once they hung in the air between them, it felt right. 

After the initial shift, Morrigan’s expression moved gradually. Lifting her hands—bare and circle-less—to throw the scarf from her head, her lips pursed, eyes dropping from Leliana to observe the vials of Lyrium set out on the table. 

“That depends,” she answered at last, not looking away from the Lyrium. There was a careful enunciation to each word, like she was measuring each one before they ever escaped her. “Are you robbing me?”

The irony of that question—how Leliana had asked the same of Morrigan only two nights passed—went unappreciated. Leliana’s fingers flexed along the top of the chair. There was a hot line throbbing along her forearm from where she’d ferreted away her blade too hastily, but she was just realizing it now. She licked her lips. It was just a scratch. She was alright. 

Evenly, she said, “If I’d wanted to steal something, I would have been gone by now.”

Morrigan’s gaze rose to meet Leliana’s once more. It was like watching someone consider an abstract painting, all thoughtful scrutiny. Then Morrigan advanced into the room, stopping on the other side of the table and throwing down a set of keys with a clatter.

“That is a relief,” Morrigan said, nonplussed. “Your companions spoke highly of your abilities. A shame if it all amounted to nothing but talk.”

She pulled away the scarf, dropping it into a pile on the table before moving onto the buckles of her coat. As the silver fell apart, the fabric did too, until the whole thing sagged at Morrigan’s biceps, sliding off at the slightest roll of pale shoulders. 

Underneath, she wore a plain white blouse, the sleeves cut short in the latest style. A pair of denim dungarees stopped shy of her ankles, where low heels showed signs of a recent walk through the drizzle outside. The whole ensemble was completed with a gold chain around her neck which disappeared beneath her collar. 

What was it Zevran said about Morrigan being raised in a swamp? If he’d truly been serious, she was trying very hard not to let it show. 

Leliana remembered the imitation clothes she’d discovered in Morrigan’s luggage, and her eyes trailed down to the careless creases being folded into that heavy coat by inexperienced hands. Well, if one didn’t look too deeply, she pulled it off well enough. 

“So,” Morrigan said, finally hanging the folded coat over the back of a chair. “Is there a reason you have come rifling through that which does not belong to you?”

That coat… That was a fugitive's attire, plain as day. Lothering at this time of year would be temperate if not for the humidity, a thick cloud of it hovering over the city at all times. Anyone wearing a coat and scarf like those was someone who did not want to be recognized on the street. 

Stowing that away for later, Leliana managed to shrug, relieved at least that she was more clothed than the first time they’d met. “You broke into my office.”

“Ah, I see. This is your idea of fair then, is it? How quant, coming from a Chantry woman.” Lifting one foot up behind her, she slipped off a heel in one delicate motion, repeating with the other. Only once she was standing barefoot on the linoleum floor—and still a couple inches taller than Leliana—did she stop undressing. “Very well. I will remember to keep score.”

It was a little surreal, seeing her like that. This looked more like a woman who could own a Mabari named Gushy than the one which had terrified Leliana so only two nights before. 

And yet, there was no mistaking the look of a woman who treated every room as her own personal domain, everyone else reduced to visitors.

“No need for scorekeeping. We’re even now,” Leliana said, grabbing the two Lyrium vials in front of her and rounding the table in two steps to stop before Morrigan. Procuring them with open hands as an olive branch, she said, “Besides, I thought about what you said before. I’m interested.”

A dark brow arched, and there was a long pause between Leliana’s offer and Morrigan’s acceptance. Finally whisking the two vials away in ginger hands, she deposited them on her side of the table and said, “You took your time in deciding that. I was preparing to leave in the morning—with or without you.”

“I needed to confirm a few things before coming to see you.” Then, as an afterthought, she tacked on, “And I was waiting on the moon.” 

Outside, the moon had disappeared from sight, and with it, the trickle of Fade through its face had stoppered like a plugged leak. There would be no magic tonight—not from Lyrium and not from skill—not unless Morrigan drew upon the power in her blood.

As quickly as Leliana said it, a keen hostility washed over Morrigan. But instead of straightening on the spot, she ran her fingers through dark hair, tossing errant locks over her shoulder and actually taking a step closer to Leliana, crowding her in an instant. 

“And now you have me at quite the disadvantage, is that it?”  _ Disadvantage _ was fanciful on her tongue, her lips curling around the words. There was nothing of caution in those unblinking eyes. “Go on.”

The urge to retreat a step withered in Leliana’s chest, her posture straight and sturdy. This was a dare, and a bold one at that. Leliana had seen posturing before, but Morrigan was the first person Leliana had seen who looked like she believed her own bluff. If she’d known about the dagger up Leliana’s sleeve, would she have moved in so close? At this range, Leliana could have filleted her, and even blood magic wouldn’t have been able to stop her Lyrium plated blade.

But that wasn’t what Leliana was here for. Without cowing, Leliana adopted a softer tone, something that could have been placating if there had been more than scant inches between them: “I’m not trying to intimidate you. I just—”

“Just as well, for you would be failing.” The corner of Morrigan’s mouth quirked up, even as her eyes dropped lower, tracing the shape of Leliana’s neck down to the subtle swell of her breasts. “Regardless, I find it amusing that you wish to speak of partnerships while only one of us is disarmed.”

To make her point, two slim fingers ghosted the front of Leliana’s blazer, pressing in just beneath her arm. Her gun, holstered there as it always was, dug into her ribs, and Leliana tilted her shoulder back away. 

Brow furrowing, she frowned down at Morrigan, who looked pleased for having remembered where Leliana wore it. It seemed that if Leliana was harboring sentiments about having magic explode between them last time, Morrigan felt much the same about having been held at gunpoint for the majority of their meeting. 

Even so, Leliana didn’t move for her pistol immediately, reluctant to part with it. 

Clicking her tongue, Morrigan chided, “Come now, Leliana. Let us show a little compromise and even the playing field.”

Ample restraint went into not rolling her eyes.

Making a face nonetheless, Leliana stepped away, turning her back on Morrigan entirely to return to her side of the table. Even without seeing, she could feel the heavy weight of Morrigan’s gaze on her as she tugged off her blazer, leaving her in her thin white blouse and trousers. She draped it across the back of her chair, much as Morrigan had done with her coat. 

The holster stretching beneath her arms and across her shoulder blades was on full display now, and with deliberate slowness, Leliana spun and withdrew her pistol. Her grip was a demonstrative one, fingers wrapped around it awkwardly so as not to suggest any interest in the trigger. 

Holding Morrigan’s gaze for a moment, Leliana finally set her gun down on her side of the table. 

Morrigan smirked. 

All that self-satisfaction was going to give Leliana hives. With a bit of a flourish, she flipped her wrist, noting the faint pink spots of blood on her sleeve where her stiletto had nicked her earlier. Reaching for its handle and watching Morrigan follow the movement with surprise, Leliana said, “I’m not usually this honest with people determined to be difficult, but. If it will  _ truly _ put your anxious soul at ease...”

The Lyrium plated blade was laid next to her pistol, and Morrigan lingered on it longer than she had the gun, perhaps noticing the telling prismatic light which was now dancing up its length. 

Well now. Wasn’t that interesting.

“Lyrium,” Morrigan said, spinning on her heel and taking up her place on her side of the table once more. The very rigid way she held herself spoke volumes, nevermind that she was ignoring Leliana’s quip. “You must have paid quite the fortune for that.”

“It pays to be prepared for all kinds of situations.” Though Leliana had produced the stiletto to hurry along the theatrics, if Morrigan was hoping she hadn’t noticed the reaction her dagger had, she was going to be sorely disappointed. “I can see you understand that, though. You have artefacts on you now.”

It wasn’t a question, and Morrigan scowled. 

“What was it you said, Morrigan? Compromise and even playing fields?” Leliana asked, cracking a smile for the first time.

In lieu of a true answer, Morrigan broke eye contact, her features not quite reaching unaffected as she patted down along the side of her folded coat. Lyrium didn’t lie, and sure enough, when Morrigan withdrew a small clutch from one of the deep pockets of her coat, Leliana’s blade shone brighter. 

“I have only one artefact. A blade imbued with a fire enchantment,” Morrigan said, withdrawing what looked like a switchblade from her bag. A simple press of a button along its edge, and the blade snapped out, veins of heat dancing across its face. Like Leliana had, Morrigan set it and the clutch on her side of the table. “You understand protection, I trust.”

“I do,” Leliana agreed. With all their cards on the table, it was starting to feel like she understood more than just why Morrigan carried a blade. “One can never be too careful.”

“Hm.” Morrigan drew herself up to her full height and examined Leliana with a critical eye.

“Hm,” Leliana repeated, showering her with the same treatment.

Time passed in a handful of heartbeats. 

Then, Morrigan pulled out her seat and slid down into it. “You mentioned an interest in my proposal.”

Just like that, they could move onto business. 

Leliana followed Morrigan’s lead in sitting, swearing she saw the shadow of smile cross Morrigan’s face. Twisting in her chair to retrieve the pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of her blazer, she said, “I did. I’m going to need some more details, though. Do you mind?”

Taking note of the pack and dismissing Leliana’s concern with a wave, Morrigan said, “Go on.”

“Thanks.” Nicotine filled her senses as she brought a cigarette to her lips and lit it. Blowing a stream of smoke, she said, “Now, I’m willing to help you retrieve your artefacts, but I do hope you understand I’m not a charity.”

“Cynical words from a Sister.” Somehow, those words vaguely resembled praise to Leliana’s ears. Then, after a breath, Morrigan cocked her head and asked, “Only the artefacts?”

As though she hadn’t even heard the latter question, Leliana continued, “I haven’t belonged to the Chantry in a long time, and I don’t think you understand the scale of the operation you’ll need. Marjolaine’s network extends from Ferelden to the Anderfels, and normally it would take an Inquisition to find specific pieces.”

Morrigan scoffed. “Payment will not be an issue.” 

When Morrigan made no attempt to elaborate, Leliana arched a brow. Zevran and Mahariel weren’t likely to send someone Leliana’s way if they were flat broke, and the liquid Lyrium was a good indicator of wealth, but… 

After an extended moment of silence, Morrigan rolled her eyes and reached into her clutch once more, withdrawing a slip of paper of opening it with a scoff. 

Between two curling laurels, the words PROMISSORY NOTE was writ large in neat, even letters, and beneath that, a tidy little paragraph which detailed a debt owed by a certain Cousland family of—

_ “10,000 sovereigns?” _

Leliana’s cigarette almost dropped from her mouth. 

“7,455 sovereigns,” Morrigan corrected, pointing to the little grid in the bottom corner of the page which showed payments made against the total debt. “Satisfied?”

“Very.” What was that old saying? Anyone who could afford a Mabari could pay their bills? Still, Leliana hadn’t expected her to have that kind of money lying around. Watching Morrigan fold up the paper and tuck it back into her clutch, Leliana composed herself admirably. “Now, onto my next question: what are you looking for?”

“Two things. One is old book, black binding, written in cipher—”

“Hold on. Do you have their names?” Leliana cut her off with a raised hand, ignoring the flicker of irritation across dark features. Perhaps she’d expected her to stay starstruck at such a sum a bit longer. Unfortunately for Morrigan, Leliana had seen greater fortunes when she’d been working for Marjolaine. “I worked with enough artefacts at the Chantry to know my fair share.”

Unless they were low grade enchantments like the kind on that switchblade—and Leliana trusted  _ no one _ was stupid enough to chase a trifle like that into a den of lions—chances were, she’d seen whatever Morrigan was looking for pass hands through the Chantry during her time there. If nothing else, she was likely to at least have glanced at their dossiers.

“The grimoire has no name,” Morrigan responded. Leliana made a note of that and then filed away the information she’d already given about it, compiling a mental list of what she had to work with. “The other is the Litany of Adralla.”

Halfway through making a mental note of that, Leliana paused. Smoke stuck in her lungs. “The Litany of Adralla?”

From across the table, Morrigan leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm and smiling. “I thought you knew your fair share of artefacts? Yes, the Litany of Adralla. It’s a small incense burner of Tevinter origin. Brass. Runes along it sides.” 

“Hm.” Leliana only half-listened to the description. After a pause, she asked, “And you said these things were stolen from you?”

“Yes.”

“They belong to you?”

Morrigan arched a brow. “They’ve been in my family for many years.”

“Huh. You didn’t strike me as the sentimental type.” In her mental notes, Leliana was scrawling a message in the margins:  _ circle? _ That would have to be something she came back to once she had the chance to double-check her facts. “Where did you lose them?”

“The Brecilian Forest.” Examining the state of her nails, Morrigan tacked on, “Two months ago.”

“Two months,” Leliana repeated, reclining back into her chair and taking another thoughtful puff of her cigarette. Too late to follow a trail then, but if the artefacts were taken in Ferelden, they might still be in luck. “Hm.”

Silence descended as Leliana mulled over their options. Most of them were hopeless, but a few of them were only somewhat suicidal. If Leliana was agreeing to help Morrigan retrieve her things—and, for the moment, that was  _ all _ she was agreeing to do—then they needed to start somewhere. 

It was seeming like that somewhere just so happened to be closer to Marjolaine than she’d wanted to venture so soon.

“I don’t know where your artefacts are,” Leliana said finally. “But I do know where we can find out. In each region, there is a central hub every artefact passes through on its way to other parts of the network. Each one keeps meticulous records of the items which pass through its station, including where it’s headed.”

“But?”

Morrigan caught on quick.  _ “But. _ It’s overseen by one of Marjolaine’s direct associates. Access to that kind of information is closely guarded, and we’d have to break into their office to obtain it.”

“I see no problem there.” A flash of teeth. “We are both so talented at that.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about.” Years of service had left Leliana with a decent understanding of what would be required to get in, but the real hitch in the plan came if they were discovered. “We’d have to pull this off without alerting anyone that a crime had even taken place. Any alert would ripple through the system, and wherever your artefacts are…”

“Heightened security,” Morrigan finished for her. 

Stubbing out her cigarette against her stiletto with a final exhale of smoke, Leliana said, “The lethal kind.” 

That Morrigan didn’t blink was a testament to her arrogance, or her stupidity. At this point, the distinction was nothing but semantics. And if Marjolaine got even the slightest inclination Leliana was involved… Leliana felt a shiver roll through her.

Before Leliana could entertain the particulars of that nightmare, Morrigan gave a sharp beat of laughter. “They may try to do us harm, if they wish.”

“Should I be concerned that you aren’t?” Touching her temple, Leliana said, “This isn’t some rote song and dance. Marjolaine collects all sorts of people. Assassins. Mages, even. Tipping her off would be the end of this little excursion.”

“Oh, relax.” Like Leliana’s precautions were a personal offense against her, Morrigan huffed, “We will do things your way.” 

“Good, because my if you want to keep my expertise, doing things my way isn’t optional.” Working together meant sticking her neck out to see this succeed, and Leliana wasn’t interested in losing her head.

“I got it.” Morrigan rolled her eyes but stood, extending her hand across the table. “Now, do we have an accord?”

Stinging nettles grew unchecked in Leliana’s mind, each prick carrying the recollection of Marjolaine’s resources, her influence, her ruthlessness. Even just the memory of her smile was enough to fill Leliana with a cold, desperate fear, but. 

The memory of Morrigan’s words was fresher and warm as blood.  _ Revenge. _

Leliana could taste it on her lips as if she’d been the one with the courage to say it. 

Standing, she slipped her hand into Morrigan’s, silencing that hopeless, scared part of her—if only for the moment. “Let’s get started.”

“Excellent.” Morrigan smiled, her fingers squeezing Leliana’s. “So. Where do we begin?”

“Denerim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG OTP MOOD: they're too busy posturing to get anything done for the entire first half of the chapter. gdi y'all.


	4. Chapter 4

The problem—the problem with Denerim was this: it was a sea rushing through a dam.

Bright lights and neon signs marked every waypoint until there were too many to consider, the possibilities rushing by in a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of way. The streets ran with people and cars at all times of the day, folks of all shapes and sizes flowing between the towering buildings. The commercial part of town was the worst, so much so fast that even the dazzling facades of hotels and business centers raced by without much notice.

If Lothering had been slow decay, Denerim was a technicolor bullet to the brain, and Leliana’s head was _aching._

A part of her wondered if it was regret, or maybe the lack of sleep.

(or the chain smoking, the whiskey, and the mortal peril hanging over her neck like a guillotine’s blade)

The more immediately panicking part of her, however, knew it was the noticeable absence of her supposed _partner_ a half hour after they agreed to meet.

In an idling car parked curbside of the second tallest building in all of Denerim, Leliana could have screamed. Burying her face in her hands and dragging her fingers down her face and then back up into her hair, Leliana wondered for the thousandth time what exactly she was doing here.

It—it wasn’t that she’d been very clearly left to do all of the legwork once they’d arrived in Denerim close to two weeks ago. That, actually, was preferred considering information gathering was a precarious thing, subtlety and an instinct for self-preservation required in equal measures. Whether it was a dare to violence or a dress tailored for seduction, everything she’d seen of Morrigan was all brute force, a sledgehammer smashing through anything in its way.

No, the work was—if not stressful and tedious—better done alone.

It was the rest that sat poorly with Leliana, tugging an old thread of doubt until it threatened to unravel whatever weak resolve had taken root in her.

Since arriving, they’d seemed to move around one another like dancers on a track. Some business carried Morrigan from the hotel room nearly as often as Leliana, though their excursions into the city were mutually exclusive and their returns never seemed to coordinate.

Leliana didn’t know what Morrigan could gain from purposefully avoiding her, but that was not from a lack of considering it. It wore on her, sandpaper against stone, until three days ago, when Leliana had finally caught her.

After a week and a half of almost no contact, Leliana had been halfway through convincing herself Mahariel’s faith in Morrigan was unfounded. But then the woman had slunk back into the room in the quiet hours of dawn, disturbing Leliana from her light slumber. Weathered and weary and clutching something close to her side, Morrigan had been a sight, but it had been proof enough that Leliana hadn’t been thrown to wolves just yet.

At Leliana’s insistence, they’d discussed what her time in the city had taught her: that Marjolaine’s associate still made a home in the ports of Denerim; that there had been an unfortunate accident three years back which left someone new in charge; and that despite the nightly festivities there, no one made it past the front door without an invitation.

Which meant an invitation was where they needed to start.

And that brought them to a particular hotel in the commercial district, where a certain up-and-coming Orlesian entrepreneur by the name of Valard was staying.

The specifics of Leliana’s plan had been met with curt noises of agreement, which she’d chalked up to the hour and the exhaustion Morrigan wore like a heavy cloak. Now Leliana wondered whether it was because she had no intention to follow through from the beginning.

The possibility that Morrigan had come across trouble resurfaced now, but Leliana knew no common mugger would be much of a match for her tonight. It was a waxing half-moon, and Morrigan was brimming with power, which meant that it was more likely that Morrigan’s absence of her own making.

Which left Leliana waiting alone for Valard outside his hotel, all the while wondering whether she should even attempt this half-cooked plan without Morrigan.

It wasn’t too late to abandon it. But then what would she do? What _could_ she do—

A sharp rap of knuckles against the passenger window nearly jolted Leliana from her seat, her heart leaping up into her throat. The dark shape standing there bent to peer in through the glass, and Leliana cursed beneath her breath.

Lurching across the car and yanking up the lock, Leliana watched as the door opened and Morrigan slid into the passenger seat, not a hair out of place.

“What a wretched city,” she sneered, closing the door behind her. As though not a thing were wrong, Morrigan took one look at Leliana and then smiled, all slow and snake-like. “What have we here? You didn’t tell me you intended to dress up.”

Leliana opened her mouth to make a seething demand to know what had taken her so long, only to freeze partway through, the words stolen from her tongue by Morrigan’s smirk. Almost self-conscious, she ran a hand over the just too-big crimson jacket she’d pilfered from the hotel days before. Gold buttons lined its front, leading up to black lapels and a black bowtie.

With her hair pulled up into a neat ponytail, she was the picture of the hotel employees whisking patrons to their cars just outside, every bit of her dressed for service with a smile.

“Are you a valet?” Morrigan laughed, reaching across the center console to tug at the bowtie nestled at Leliana’s throat. Her own dress was simpler, a long coat thrown over whatever she intended for the party. “How darling.”

Leliana swatted her hand away, fixing her with a hard glare despite the flush burning across the bridge of her nose. Regrettably, her seething demand for an explanation only emerged as a: “You’re late.”

Rather than take offense, Morrigan appeared delighted, retracting her gloved hand with a chuckle. “Have I missed something? It looks as though you’ve yet to begin.”

“That’s not the point. I was getting ready to leave.”

Morrigan’s amusement withered in an instant. “Leave?”

Good. That was more the reaction Leliana wanted. Jabbing an accusing finger at Morrigan, she said, “This is not how you get to do this. When I say we are meeting, you need to be there. If Valard had already come out—”

“If,” Morrigan repeated, cutting Leliana short. With a dismissive noise, she leaned back in her chair, adjusting her hair. “If is a useless word. He has not, has he? Then what does it matter?”

“It matters,” Leliana insisted. “Because I’ve been waiting her alone for a half hour not knowing whether you were going to show up at all! If you want this to work, the least you could do is be there when I need you to be.”

With a clear roll of her eyes, Morrigan said, “Oh, fire and retribution! Forgive me, for I did not realize you frightened so easily when left alone.”

Leliana ground out, “Where. Were. You.”

“I am not a child to be lectured by you.” Morrigan’s tongue was sharp, her words cutting. “I had business elsewhere, and that is the end of it.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Morrigan jerked her head towards the passenger window, watching as the people streamed by. Clearly, she intended for that to be the last word, but Leliana had not twisted herself into knots just for Morrigan to get away with such a hollow answer.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Leliana said, “I don’t need to know everything you do, Morrigan. I can respect privacy. But I need to know things that are relevant to me.”

Normally, Leliana wasn’t prone to snooping. Or rather, she didn’t mind allowing people their secrets if she didn’t think they affected her. Since breaking into Morrigan’s place on their second meeting, Leliana had kept her attentions to herself and her work. She even ignored the persistent urge to dig into Morrigan’s claim that she’d owned the Litany of Adralla, when Leliana knew that Chantry records had placed it elsewhere while she had still been a Sister.

All of this with the hope that were it truly important, Morrigan would be up front with her.

Instead, without ever looking her way, Morrigan said, “Then you need not worry. This is not relevant to you.”

“Maker’s breath, you are impossible—”

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Leliana touched her temples, blinking hard against the pressure still brewing behind her eyes. If this was really how it was going to be, Leliana would just have to find out for herself just how relevant Morrigan’s business—including her story about the Litany—was to her.

Exhaling, Leliana demanded, “Alright, you know what? Forget it. Are we still doing this?”

“Hmph. Why wouldn’t we be?”

For now, Leliana would have to settle for this. “Okay then. Switch with me.”

Morrigan snapped to attention as Leliana pushed herself up, shoulders and head hugging the roof of the car. Swinging one leg over the center console, she found the space between Morrigan’s knees. Crowded, Morrigan pressed back into her seat but otherwise didn’t move as Leliana waited.

Morrigan’s lips, painted a carmine red, parted and then closed again. Then, perfectly even, she managed, “Excuse me?”

When she still didn’t move, Leliana jostled her shoulder impatiently and jerked her head towards the driver’s seat. “Move.”

Understanding finally clicked into place, and the moment it did, Morrigan’s expression hardened into something harder to parse. Tsking, she tucked her knees into her chest, heels digging into the edge of the seat. Then she stretched her legs over the center console, shifting into the space Leliana had once occupied in a tangle of limbs and serpentine contortion.

The second she was out of the passenger’s seat and fumbling into the driver’s side, Leliana dropped into her seat and was digging for her cigarettes.

“You’re driving,” Leliana grunted, putting one to her lips and struggling with her lighter in the other hand. The nicotine stung, but she took a long drag, trying to drown out the frustration brewing in her chest with smoke. “There’s a bag at your feet with restraints and a gag.”

Morrigan glanced down. “Restraints?”

Blowing a stream of smoke, Leliana asked, “What? Did you think someone was just going to give us what we need?”

“I only wonder what use we have for restraints. You carry a blade, do you not?” Golden eyes flickered to Leliana’s wrist, where her Lyrium coated dagger was secreted within her sleeve, and Leliana didn’t miss the implication there.

“I prefer not to shed blood when it isn’t necessary. And it’s not. He won’t go to the police.” A look from Morrigan beseeched explanation, but Leliana just gave a shrug of her shoulders, frowning. “He’s Orlesian.”

“Ah yes, perfectly reasonable.” Morrigan’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“He’s going to think we’ve been hired by his competition. Or maybe a secret admirer,” she explained.  

A fashionable pastime in the elite classes of Orlais, an old-fashioned kidnapping could move along deals, exile someone from a social circle, or become the beginning of an enduring partnership. Even if the rules dictated those taken were to be left unharmed—if not frazzled—these sorts of things were a dare for retaliation.

After a moment, Leliana tacked on, “But, he might send assassins as a response.”

Which, in the scheme of things, felt very far off and insignificant. There were more important things to worry about, like getting through this night in one piece.

“Maddening,” Morrigan murmured.

“You get used to it.”

After that, the only sounds were the muted bustle of the sidewalk on her side, and the constant zip of cars past the driver’s side.  Leliana didn’t offer anything, and Morrigan did the same, and they lapsed into a silence that itched.

To keep her mind off it—and really, she didn’t have the wherewithal to be split her attentions between the night’s dangers and Morrigan—Leliana fixed her gaze on the hotel’s doors and didn’t move it. It was getting closer to when she expected Valard to emerge, and she could feel a cold sweat prickling between her shoulder blades.

Shifting in her seat every so often, she alternated between statuesque still and agitated movement. Finishing her first cigarette, Leliana tossed it out the window, lit another, and finished that one just as quickly. Her thoughts felt whirlwind, new possibilities racing through her mind: a setback she hadn’t planned for, a personal failing she hadn’t foreseen.

Did she even still remember how to do this? It had been so long since she’d been put to proper work, and if anything, her stumbling first encounters with Morrigan had left her feeling less prepared than ever.

At this rate, the anticipation was going to kill her before anything else had the chance.

And then she saw him.

Through the revolving glass doors came a stout man with thick black hair. Leliana only snatched a brief glimpse of him through a group of well-dressed kossith, but she recognized that face from the photos she’d managed to dig up.

“He’s here.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, straightening in her seat. Her chest hurt, her heart jackhammering between her ribs. It was now or never. Popping open the door and slipping out into the cool night, she sucked in a breath and murmured, “Wish me luck.”

It was an empty request, luck having no sway here. Skill should have been Leliana’s saving grace, but she was all rust and brine, out of practice and out of her depth all at once.

Another moment wouldn’t prepare her, but she took one anyway, smoothing her jacket and touching her hair. Then she was off, forcing her stiff knees to carry her through the crowd like quicksilver.

Would Valard notice the uniform was a poor fit? Would he notice the lines of stress on her brow? All at once, her disguise felt flimsy, like it would only take a look to see straight through it to the intentions at the heart of her.

With her pulse thundering in her ears, Leliana all but elbowed another valet out of the way to reach Valard before they did. His gaze met hers too soon, his expression flitting between something critical and wary. Leliana smiled despite it, hoping that the cracks in her veneer were not as gaping as they felt.

“Mr.Valard,” she greeted, relieved when her voice didn’t lodge in her throat. “Your car is this way.”

Valard, shorter than her but broad of shoulder, reached up to stroke his chin. There was a shadow of new hair there despite the obvious signs he’d tried to keep it clean shaven. Dwarven heritage, perhaps? Unfortunate, considering Orlesian society had to tendency to ostracize any who didn’t fit the mold.

“Hmph. Ferelden incompetence at its finest. I’ve been waiting for five minutes,” Valard said. Leliana felt her sympathies run dry at the obvious exaggeration, but this was easier to keep from her face. With a sideways glance at the man at his back, Valard said, “Come on Talveth.”

Talveth—who Leliana was just realizing wasn’t a part of the crowd—was a solid foot taller than Valard, and even next to Leliana, he appeared half a giant. Dressed in a sleek black suit that was every bit as discreet as Valard’s was ostentatious, he was quite obviously some form of hired protection.

And worse, he was carrying a briefcase, presumably of Valard’s things.

“Shall I take your things for you?” Leliana asked, gesturing toward the briefcase. She couldn’t see the invitations on Valard himself, which meant that was the next best option.

Valard checked his golden wristwatch. “The car.”

Okay. Alright. Not the end of the world. She could still figure this out.

 _Just breathe,_ she told herself.

“Of course, sir. Right this way.”

Smiling remarkably, she led Valard and his bodyguard down the line of cars to where Morrigan waited. Other valets watched her inquisitively, perhaps wondering when she’d been hired, but Leliana’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Talveth looked rather strong, and the grip he maintained on that briefcase was steely. The night was certainly a good night for magic to help them here, but an incident like that in such a populated place would have Chantry agents searching for them within minutes. The last thing she needed was the added pressure of dodging sweeps of Templars.

Which meant she needed to deal with this on her own.

Before she’d formulated exactly how she planned to do that, they had reached the familiar, sleek black auto. Leliana caught a glimpse of Morrigan through the windshield, but the lighting from the hotel was so skewed that she couldn’t see her clearly— which meant Morrigan also couldn’t see her, or the panic she was sure was blossoming on her face.

Pulling open the back door for him, Leliana held it open while Valard muttered something beneath his breath and slid into the waiting backseat. Talveth was already following, and Leliana still had no plan.

All she knew was that she couldn’t let Talveth into the car.

Before he could bend into the backseat, Leliana caught him by the elbow, adopting a face of concern. Pointing back towards the lobby, she said, “Oh, um…”

Squinting, he followed her direction, and in that moment of distraction, Leliana closed the scant space between them and delivered a brutal knee to his groin. It was swift, and his collapse even swifter, that hulking shape of a man crumpling like tin foil. A muted sound of agony was all he managed as he dropped to the pavement, briefcase forgotten.

Leliana scooped it up and leapt into the car, muscling Valard further in and slamming the door behind her.

“Go!”

The crank of the car being thrown into gear was nearly lost to Leliana’s pulse pounding in her ears, but there was no missing the rev of the engine as they whipped out of the parking spot and into traffic. Dropping the briefcase at her feet, Leliana all but slammed Valard against the door, one hand clapping over his mouth while the point of her dagger found his throat.

“Please stay calm, Mr.Valard,” Leliana heard herself say. There was only a hint of a tremble in her words, lost beneath the chill with which they were delivered. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Even despite the lurch of the car and the way Valard’s hands wrapped around Leliana’s arm like iron shackles, she kept her dagger steady. Valard was strong—that much was evident from his grip—but Leliana already had the blade kissing his throat. Horrified realization of this washed over him, the beginnings of a panicked resistance wilting.

“Let go of me.” Winter stuck between her teeth, and something cold and hollow settling in her gut, sapping all the jitters from her limbs until nothing remained but intent. It was a stark contrast to the fire that had been racing through her veins, blood laced with adrenaline. “Now.”

With one hand clapped over his mouth, there was no chance for Valard to protest, but Leliana observed all the color drain from his face. A moment later, his shaking fingers released her sleeve, hovering uselessly, not daring to touch but not willing to pull away completely.

“Thank you,” Leliana said, though there was nothing close to gratitude in her. The car swayed once more as it swerved into another lane, but Leliana didn’t take her eyes off Valard. “Now. We’re here to make a deal, Mr.Valard. If I remove my hand, will you speak calmly—”

From the front seat, Morrigan interjected, “He will scream.”

“He’s not going to scream. Mr.Valard is going to be calm. Aren’t you, Mr.Valard?”

Valard’s eyes were wide and white, and in them, Leliana could see the reflection of herself. Stern and sharp, she was devoid of compassion, her entire body honed for this. A ghost of a smile touched her lips before vanishing altogether. She still remembered how to do this. She could do this.

After a long pause, Valard nodded.

“Good, because you have something we need, and I very much would like to discuss the terms of an exchange.” Though Leliana leaned back somewhat, the dagger at Valard’s throat didn’t move. Very slowly, Leliana lifted her palm from his mouth, and Valard’s breath slipped into the air between them, rapid and thin. “Morrigan, pass me the—”

The scream he made was shrill with panic, and Leliana surged forward, silencing him once more. A renewed fight filled him, only to be quashed when Leliana drove her head forward in a vicious headbutt, his skull cracking back against the window.

The echo of his voice rang in Leliana’s ears in time with the hard throb of impact. That headache from before was going to linger all night, then.

Blinking hard, she waited for the wobble in her vision to disappear. It only took a second, though Valard seemed to still struggle with his bearings, groaning softly into Leliana’s palm. Marjolaine had always told her: when delivering a headbutt, she could either be the hammer or the nail. That Valard was faring worse was proof she hadn’t forgotten.

“He screamed,” Morrigan provided helpfully.

“He screamed,” Leliana conceded, blowing a pesky lock of hair which had escaped her ponytail out of her eyes. “Toss me the bag.”

“As I said he would. Men are all the same.” There was a noticeable lilt of pleasure in those words, like Morrigan delighted in everything which had just occurred. Before Leliana could cut that short, she caught the blur of motion as Morrigan tossed her bag into the back. It bounced off Leliana’s thigh, toppling to the floor. “No matter how old they get, they always frighten like little boys.”

At this point, Valard was looking more than frightened. A sheen of sweat had formed across his brow, and a noticeable tremor wracked his entire body.

“I would like to not have to do that again,” Leliana told him. He swallowed thickly. “So please cooperate with us. Pick up that bag and put on the handcuffs. Behind your back, please.”

With all his fight expended, Valard was more pliant now. He obeyed, even if every second they stayed there, he continued to beg mercy without words. Pulling the bag into his lap, reaching within, hesitating over the handcuffs within—he did each task painstakingly slow, as though he were waiting for Leliana to realize she really did pity him.

It was all rather dramatic if you asked her, especially since he seemed to be expecting Leliana to tell him he could stop, and perhaps, even, that they would be returning him to the hotel.

Instead, she said, “A little faster, please.”

When he finally snapped the cuffs into place, she bid him lean forward so she could make sure he hadn’t simply pretended. Then, once she had confirmed, she withdrew from him, slipping her stiletto back into her sleeve and snatching the bag from his lap.

This time, he didn’t scream, his voice coming out very small. “Listen, you don’t want to do this—to make an enemy of me.”

Morrigan snorted, but Leliana’s only response was to reach the cloth gag from the bag and secure it in place. Just shy of hyperventilating, Valard’s head swung around, searching for some way to escape his predicament.

Leliana stretched across him, grabbing the seat belt and fastening it securely over Valard. Snagging the briefcase, Leliana dropped it into the front seat and then reminded him, “Stay calm, Mr. Valard. It’s only one night.”

Then she climbed into the front, almost slipping as Morrigan made a sharp turn.

Shuffling to get the briefcase in her lap, Leliana fell back into her seat, absently pulling her own seat belt into place. It took trying that to make her realize she’d yet to abandon her dagger, but there was still a moment’s hesitation before she secreted it away.

“That.” Without a blade in her hands, that cold sensation began to abate, the buzz of adrenaline with no outlet returning. “That went well? That went well, I think.”

Even saying it aloud, it didn’t feel real. She’d expected this plan to fall to ruin the moment they were tested, but… It had been a long time since she’d done this, but her body hadn’t forgotten how.

“Luck is for fools.” Morrigan commented, gracing her with a split-second smile, there and then gone. “Success is the domain of the skilled.”

“Is that a compliment?” Leliana felt herself return the smile. “I honestly can’t tell right now.”

Keeping her eyes straight ahead, Morrigan said, “Take it as you will. I care not.”

Despite the absurdity of it all, Leliana’s grin didn’t fade. Clamping her trembling fingers around the corners of the briefcase, Leliana looked at the road for the first time, headlights and brakelights all mixing together beneath the neon haze of the city.

Ignoring the muffled protests from the backseat, she asked, “Do you know where you’re going?”

“You said to drive,” Morrigan reminded her. “Not where.”

“Right, okay. Turn left up here. We need to start heading towards the docks.”

From here, it was only a matter of dropping the car—and Valard—somewhere they would be found in the morning. Then they could move on to the next part of the night: slipping in right under the nose of Marjolaine’s associate.

Leliana felt her stomach knot, and before it could seize her, she looked down at the briefcase in her lap. She still needed to confirm they had the invitations.

Hitting the latches along its top, Leliana popped it open. The contents were mostly papers, a couple of pens, and two envelopes which looked promising—not that she was here for them, but old habits died hard. More importantly, Leliana found exactly what she had been looking for: two delicate half-masks.

Lifting them from the briefcase with due gentleness, Leliana’s held them up for inspection. One of the masks was crafted of the blackest velvet and detailed at the edges with starburst gemstones and golden ribbon. The other carried a similar design, though the black was a deep crimson and the accents were done in white. Together, the two masks made up the colors of the Orlesian flag—and must have been worth what Leliana was accustomed to making in a month as a Witch Hunter.

“He’s got the invitations.” In the backseat, Valard thrashed, making a muted sound of horror even through the gag. Leliana said, “I guess we’re really doing this.”

“Of course,” Morrigan said, flashing her a knowing smile. “There will be no turning back now.”

For better or for worse, Leliana felt in her bones that she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the award for the most difficult chapter to write to date goes to..... this monster. that and the fact that my past two weeks have been Extremely Busy are why we didn't update on time. 
> 
> (the next update is probably going to be two weeks from now too!)
> 
> hope yall enjoyed regardless! we on that spy shit now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, here come the Long Chapters.

The Orlesian Embassy was one of the only places in all of Denerim which didn’t bustle with activity, even at night. Something to do with the old prejudices perhaps, or even the aura of legality it effused. Whatever the case, there was little chance of anyone happening upon Valard until the office opened in the morning—and if all went well, Leliana and Morrigan would be long gone by then.

Climbing out of the car and fishing for a cigarette, Leliana lifted one to her mouth and began to shrug out of her valet’s jacket. She’d brought something a little more suited to their next venue, but before she could yank that on, Morrigan said, “That will not be an issue?”

With a pointed look at the faint outline of the stiletto blade along Leliana’s forearm, it was clear what she meant.

Balancing her cigarette between her lips as she grabbed the suit jacket and tie from the car, Leliana said, “Blades and guns are a point of status. No one with power wants their right to carry taken away. Besides, the staff there is confident enough they can kill you before you make a scene—especially with a moon like this.”

Morrigan watched as Leliana pulled on her new jacket and began to work at her tie. Her fingers were jittery at the knot. “Magic?”

With a nod, Leliana paused to exhale a cloud of smoke.“The place likes to keep at least one mage on their staff. I might have brought my gun otherwise.”

As it stood, it was going to be a bad night for anything that wasn’t Lyrium plated. Nothing was worth the risk of having bullets snatched right out of the air, only to be returned at twice the speed. Even if it limited her to a dagger, Leliana wanted something she was certain couldn’t be turned against her.

“You needn’t have worried.” There was a gleam in Morrigan’s eyes, her teeth flashing in a split-second smile. “I can handle any other spellcasters.”

Finishing with her tie and tugging out the elastic which held her hair back, Leliana shot a measuring look across the car’s hood to where Morrigan perched on the other side. Shaking out her hair so it fell about her face, Leliana pointed down at Morrigan’s hands and said, “I hope you remember what I told you about no magic until we’re definitely on our way out. You can imagine the awkward position I’d be in if the Chantry showed up.”

It would be a shame to see Cassandra again in _another_ Chantry cell.

The pleasure deserted Morrigan at the mention of the Chantry. “A pack of nattering women.”

“With enough Lyrium to put you in the ground, tonight or any other night.” With the Chantry’s monopoly on the substance, they even had the resources to fund the exorbitant costs of Lyrium plated bullets.

Rolling her eyes, Morrigan peeled off her gloves and shoved them in her pockets, revealing bare hands. “Satisfied?”

Leliana said nothing, averting her gaze elsewhere and taking a long drag of her cigarette. She could feel Morrigan itching to leave, but sense and self-preservation gnawed at her not to move. Whatever confidence had Morrigan ready to charge right in, Leliana didn’t share it.

Slipping off the edge of the car’s hood, Morrigan made an impatient sound. “Well?”

“Yeah.” Her cigarette was whittling away at an alarming rate. Finishing it off in one deep inhale, Leliana dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath her heel. “I’m coming.”

Valard watched them from the backseat, his face pressed to the glass, as Leliana rounded the car and met Morrigan on the other side, leading the way out to the street to hail a cab.

From there, it was only a matter of following the road. After all, in Denerim, all roads led to The Pearl.

It had once been a shipping factory, but twenty years back The Pearl had come under new management, and they had seen fit to refurbish and reform it into the establishment it was now. Right on the edge of the water and commanding an impressive lot, The Pearl was mostly standing room only, people overflowing into the well-lit outdoor area.

An open party was an affront to Orlesian sense and snobbery, which meant The Pearl’s first floor and expansive lot were the favored spot of every Ferelden and otherwise in the city.

Yet despite the reputation The Pearl had fostered for _anything goes,_ no one got farther than the first floor without an invitation—not that the majority of the patrons seemed to even notice.

While the ground floor boomed within a haze of cigarette smoke and cheap booze, the second and third floors were saved for a cocktail of business and pleasure, coaxed along by the long-standing agreement The Pearl held with Denerim law enforcement.

As Leliana and Morrigan held the keys to gain entrance—a simple flash of their masks and a check of their hands was all it took—they were escorted around the edges of the crowded indoors to a small vestibule without a beat of hesitation, the two guards depositing them at the base of a staircase with well-wishes for their night.

Left alone, Morrigan immediately shivered from head to toe, her expression pinching like someone had forced her to swallow a cup of vinegar. Although she usually moved with the ease and grace of a raven in flight, now tension was evident in every muscle, teased out by the ordeal of the crowds.

If Leliana was being honest, it was a bit of a relief to see someone else looking as uncomfortable as she felt.

“What an awful place, to have such volumes of people,” Morrigan said, though Leliana was hardly listening.

While Morrigan grumbled her misgivings and dusted at whatever invisible film she’d acquired from rubbing shoulders with the patrons of the Pearl, Leliana felt the room constrict around her. Reaching for her cigarettes, she had to strike her old zippo a few times before it lit, but then she sucked down a grateful breath of smoke.

This was all too familiar, memories coating every surface. The stairs that creaked in the winters, the boards laden with the moisture in the air. There were notches along the banister’s spine that her palm had brushed across dozens of times, and now her skin prickled with the recollection. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the circular mirror on the wall across from her, Leliana averted her gaze.

Minus the dark circles beneath her eyes and the hunch of her shoulders as she smoked, she could have been here on business for Marjolaine, the thought as revolting as it was worrying.

Would she be recognized? The mask would help, and there were few who kept track of players who could no longer compete, but still… They would need to mingle, blending in on the second floor before eventually making their escape the to third to search the offices there. Which meant there was no shortages of chances to be spotted.

Gulping down a shaky inhale, she forced herself to center.

When she finally slowed her racing thoughts, Morrigan’s voice returned, clear as a bell: “I cannot fathom enduring this of my own volition.”

Had she been talking the whole time? Leliana couldn’t say, but since she’d last looked, Morrigan had moved off to the side, beginning to undo the silver buckles of her overcoat to hang on one of the many hooks lining the foyer. If she’d noticed Leliana hadn’t been paying attention, she wasn’t showing it, looking at her expectantly for some sort of reply.

Clearing her throat, Leliana spoke, her words wreathed in acrid smoke. “There won’t be as many people upstairs… Though their company leaves much to be desired.”

“Ah yes, politics and subterfuge.” Grimacing, Morrigan finally slipped out of her overcoat and left it nestled between two others. “Is there not one part of this establishment worth salvaging?”

Few parts, even by Leliana’s own admission. A couple of acquaintances and the grog were all she could come up with, but then, this place was Marjolaine’s more than it was hers.

Convening at the foot of the stairs, Leliana stubbed out her cigarette on the banister’s curling end, leaving a black smudge of ash and the butt on it. Morrigan watched her curiously, and Leliana managed a smile without looking at her, her pulse thrumming through every finger. “Shall we?”

They did.

Taking the steps one at a time, Leliana trailed Morrigan up, only taking note of what she’d worn once they were halfway up.

Now that the overcoat had been removed, Leliana could clearly see the dress Morrigan wore beneath. It was a violet number which held her figure from shoulder to mid-thigh before loosening to sway slightly around her knees. The neckline was square and bared enough skin to draw any eye, the thin gold chain leading one’s gaze down toward the plain ring nestled against her sternum.

In lieu of setting her palm to the banister as she had so many times before, Leliana laid a feather-light touch across Morrigan’s lower back. Rather than react, Morrigan only glanced over her shoulder, questioning.

“You look lovely, by the way,” Leliana said, .

“Ha.” A faint smile tugged at Morrigan’s mouth. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

While Leliana had gone for something more inconspicuous with her dark suit, Morrigan pushed the limits of being too noticeable. And apparently she knew it. Leliana only hoped that worked in their favor rather than against them.

Cresting the stairs, they were met with a short landing: a black door with a gold handle flanked by two sea-shell inlaid tables.

“This is it,” Leliana said. Withdrawing her mask—they’d decided she would take the red and white and Morrigan would take the black and gold—she affixed it to her face. It fit so perfectly that it was almost possible to believe it had been made with her in mind. Testing her peripherals, she found that it was indeed expertly crafted, her vision unimpaired. “Once we go in, you have to keep your mask on. We’ll be excused immediately if we show our faces.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes but withdrew her mask as well. “It is a wonder so much self-importance can exist under one roof.”

Cracking a smile, Leliana said, “The people here enjoy their games, and they have little care for players who cannot compete.”

With a knock of her elbow against Leliana’s, Morrigan frowned. “Is that directed at me, I wonder.”

“You would be dreadful player, Morrigan.” The bluntness of the declaration was countered with the very gentle way Leliana lifted the black mask from Morrigan’s hands. Though Morrigan’s lips curled in the beginnings of a rebuttal, she allowed the mask to be set in place, the ribbon drawn around the back of her skull. “Not that the potential isn’t there. You are clever, bold… I would wager charming even, if given the impetus. You simply lack a touch of… Mmm. Subtlety.”

Finishing the knot behind her head, Leliana brushed dark bangs just so, allowing the gemstones at the edges to shine. Black and gold melded into the natural colors of her face, the defined shape of the mask granting her sharper angles than before—not to mention a certain, mystic draw. Unquestionably, she was a sight to behold.

“Subtlety.” From behind her mask, Morrigan’s eyes glinted like coins. “Is that what this is?”

“Not at all,” Leliana said, making her final touches before withdrawing her hands altogether and offering her arm instead. “This is nerves.”

Brow quirking, Morrigan said nothing, awaiting an explanation.

“I’m half convinced we are expected,” Leliana said. Paranoia and a very intimate knowledge of how far Marjolaine’s information networks extended were a powerful combination. Managing a smile, Leliana said,  “If I am to die tonight, I would like to do it on the arm of a gorgeous woman.”

A pinch of her brow was the only reaction, at least immediately. Drawing her gaze from head to toe, Morrigan inspected Leliana as critically as a butcher opening a prime cut. Weighing her insides. Examining the color of her liver. Even without saying it, Leliana knew she found her lacking, a twist of her mouth all the proof she needed.

Finally, Morrigan said, perfectly even,  "I thought you had shed those senseless hesitations."

Said as if it were as simple as leaving behind an old molt, her body serpent smooth and unblemished by its old scars. As if that were possible at all. Leliana could have laughed.

"They aren't senseless. Even if we aren't expected here tonight—" and oh, Leliana had considered that heavily, wondering if there was some unseen shadow trailing their every move right from the start. "—it won't take much to tip _her_ off."

Even speaking Marjolaine's name here felt like invoking her wrath, like the challenge would ring through the air. This was her place, not Leliana’s, and encroaching upon it was near sacrosanct, nevermind what they intended to do here.

Morrigan pursed her lips. "Just what is it you fear?"

Leliana did laugh this time, but it was humorless and fraught with tension, the shaky quality revealing every doubt. Just because she wasn’t as dull as she feared didn’t mean there weren’t a million things that could go wrong. Where to even begin? After allowing the hollow sound of her laughter to disperse, she asked, "Have you ever been hunting, Morrigan?"

Another beat of silence followed. Finally, "On occasion. When I was younger."

The answer was deliberate and cautious, as if the words themselves were bear traps capable of cleaving her leg off below the knee. Uncomfortable territory then. Leliana could relate.

Clearing her throat, Leliana said, "I spent most of my late youth learning to hunt."

Hunting had been Marjolaine's favorite sport, and it was how Leliana had first been blooded. At the time it had felt so innocent, a patron showing their pupil the pastimes of the rich and prominent. Marjolaine had touched her elbow to straighten her shot, leaning close to whisper encouraging words in her ear. Just a sliver of her approval had been enough to make Leliana swallow down her reservations, and that night, they'd dined on the deer she'd killed.

Remembering it now was like dredging up the rotten silt stuck to the base of her skull. Resisting the urge to go for another cigarette, Leliana asked, "You used dogs, I assume?"

"We had no dogs, no."

"We did. I found that when hunting, once the prey was spotted, it was simply a matter of it dying to the dogs or the rifle. I would prefer we weren't spotted."

The change which followed was uncanny. Perhaps Morrigan did know nothing of subtlety, but in in this instance, Leliana saw that she knew weakness, her eyes going cold and hard as she saw it clearly for the first time in Leliana. Did she think it would go away with a single success under her belt? Leliana wondered how much Zevran had exaggerated for her sake, promising a fearless rogue who laughed at danger. Who could enter a place so steeped in memories without growing sick from them.

When Morrigan at last spoke, disdain was all that existed in her words. “How disappointing you still see yourself as prey.”

Leliana’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Returning her arm to her side and banishing all thoughts of meeting her fate arm-in-arm, she said, “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

Without another word wasted on her, Morrigan strode forward, pushing through the black door and entering the room beyond.

Left alone, Leliana shook her head. She had already resigned herself: her offer was all but doomed to fail, so the sting of rejection was not unbearable. Instead, she assured herself that if Morrigan’s disappointment was the worst thing she suffered tonight, she would count herself lucky.

Catching the door just before it fully shut, Leliana followed Morrigan inside.

The second floor glowed with light softened by cloudy glass globes, each fixed to the wall with curling stems of polished brass. The music here was low and smooth, played at a level which encouraged conversation rather than impeded it. Even the air felt crisper, the overhead fans swirling to keep the early-Spring humidity from settling in any of the expensive furniture.

Based around the circular bar at the center of the room, men and women lounged across sofas and loveseats, a moment of silence falling among them. Their eyes glinted behind their masks like the eyes of animals at night, curious and keen, but none rose to openly welcome or refuse them.

Around the room, guards and servers were all strategically placed to ensure no one was without protection or a drink for very long. Nothing could be seen of their eyes through the dark holes of their full masks, their faces completely hidden.

Notably, there were no guns or knives brandished at the sight of them, the low buzz of conversation returning after a moment—their first stroke of fortune in what was sure to be a very long night.

Morrigan was already several paces past the threshold, but she paused, allowing Leliana to return to her side. It was necessity that bid her wait, nothing more, and Leliana was well aware of that. No matter how little she felt at home here, Morrigan was even more out of her element.

Leaning close for just a moment, Leliana said, “Stay close to me.”

Morrigan made no answer, but Leliana hadn’t expected she would.

The first thing was not to falter here. Floundering at the threshold would see them exiled from most circles before they’d even made introductions, and that would invite its own sort of mocking attention. Striding forward with as much confidence as she could manage, Leliana endeavored to at least get this right.

Scanning the face beneath the masks as best she could while they approached, Leliana searched for anyone she might recognize—or more importantly, anyone who might recognize her. But the patrons of The Pearl were always coming and going, and at a quick glance, no one struck her as someone she’d once known.

A part of her wanted to believe she could be this lucky. The rest waited for the inevitable other shoe to drop.

“The staircase at the far end of the room,” Leliana murmured to Morrigan, though she didn’t dare stop to check if she was actually listening. “Up it is where more permanent residents keep their offices.”

True enough, past the dozens of guests and the central bar, there was a set of stairs unobstructed by any door. The real trouble was going to be the two guards positioned at its foot, their hands clasped in front of them, faces unreadable behind their masks.

As Leliana remembered it, there were plenty of reasons to ascend further—The Pearl was quietly famous for its entertainment, some of which could only be enjoyed in the vacant bedrooms on the third floor—but those who did leave the second floor were carefully noted.

From her side, a low, toneless whisper came: “There is a man.”

Startled from her thoughts, Leliana’s gaze swung to find that there were, in fact, two men approaching them now, their masks done in the gold and navy colors of the Rivain flag. A beat passed, Leliana glancing to her side. If Leliana hadn’t recognized the voice of her warning as Morrigan’s she would have never known it was her who spoke, her eyes cast stubbornly elsewhere.

Swallowing, Leliana turned back to the men and managed a smile, one that she hoped could be called coy.

The distance between them closed rapidly, until finally they were face to face. A greeting passed between them, one which Morrigan did not partake in, and just like that, they were on their way.

No part of it was easy—in fact, Leliana second-guessed every word exchange, the sidelong looks which could have hidden so many unspoken things. Clammy palms kept her touching her trousers or the insides of her cuffs, but she still managed to offer introductions and receive them in turn.

And as the moments wore on into minutes, still no one raised the alarm.

Another pair followed the first’s example, joining their group to see just who it was that had joined them so late in the game. Falling into a role, playing it well—these were the things Leliana had once known intimately. She couldn’t say the same of herself now, but there were things she remembered—what a smile could mean and when to employ them, the subtle language of posture, and the secrets which could be gleaned from intonation alone—and these things all helped.

By the time they had moved on to greeting a trio consisting of a kossith, a human, and a dwarf, Leliana was discovering that Morrigan was helping too. In her own way.

Morrigan’s silence served Leliana well—or at least better than her personality would have. Like this, she was all mystery and beauty, but had she been interested in opening her mouth other than to scoff or sigh, Leliana was sure that would all fade.

A part of her wondered if Morrigan realized she was being so helpful by being seen and not heard—and the rest of her decided that under no circumstance would she be the one to tell her.

In the meantime, she was free to enjoy the benefits of her company. A beauty like Morrigan provoked a mixture of intrigue and scorn worthy of any cocktail at the bar. Men and women alike craned their heads when she wasn't looking while others turned their noses up at her indifference, employing subtle spurns to keep a healthy distance from her.

Either way, Leliana faded at her side, an ornament to ignore. She couldn't say she detested it either. After a time, it was almost amusing to watch those who approached introduce themselves to Morrigan first, only to have Leliana respond instead.

It turned the script on its head for the other person, and Leliana was happy to play to any advantage she had.

"Valard, yes," Leliana said, interjecting when a Ferelden couple inquired into who Morrigan represented. Morrigan heaved a sigh at her side, glancing away, but Leliana inclined her head in greeting. "Yes, he's disappointed to miss this opportunity. I'm afraid it was urgent."

Even without liquid courage loosening her tongue, there was a slow build in Leliana’s gut. Her back straightened. Her shoulders relaxed. When she smiled, it wasn't with the aching awareness of every gaze in the room. Momentum, and more than a little muscle memory.

Deceit rested deep in her bones, Lyrium hummed faintly against her forearm, and Leliana found that she felt—she felt _good._ Powerful. Perhaps even dangerous.

With a couple sporting the colors of the Anderfels, Leliana discussed the recent influx of magical artefacts, owed to some recent event people could only guess at. With an overly-friendly dwarven woman, she exchanged a joke at the Grey Warden’s expense and promptly determined the woman either wanted to bed her or kill her, evidenced by her too wide smile. A human in blue silks commented on the moon, which had taken on a lilac aspect since they’d arrived, the many shadowed eyes of a pride demon peering down from its visage.

Leliana might have taken that as an omen, the pride demon drawn to the mirror between their realms by her lofty ambitions, but the thought had no tract, slipping from her mind as quickly as it came.

As a puzzle's face became more apparent with all its edges fitted into place, Leliana found more and more she was able to predict what people wanted with a look. Business offers came in droves, but it was the other propositions which proved more entertaining.

"No, we are both quite engaged for the night, I’m afraid." The woman who had come had stopped to smooth her crease-less dress before presenting herself, and Leliana had noticed the faint flush peeking out from beneath her mask. "Please let him know he'll need to look elsewhere."

She dipped her head, disappearing into the crowd, and Leliana stifled a bit of laughter before the woman’s patron could spy it.

"Curiously, that women said very little," Morrigan observed, breaking her silence for the first time in what had to be an hour. The icy tone she’d used before had thawed, though each word was as deliberate as a step taken across a tightrope.

"She didn't need to. There are traditions here." For all that Leliana was surprised Morrigan had spoken at all, she didn’t show it, her response smooth. "I hope you don't mind me speaking on your behalf, but I just turned down an offer to join a suitor for a night of... Mmm..."

A dark brow arched. "Sex?"

"It is customary to send a thornless rose for such occasions. I think he wanted a... Similar service from you, however."

Morrigan considered her with a sidelong look. "Do I want to know?"

Leliana only smiled. "There are penitent sinners even the Chantry cannot cater to, Morrigan."

“Aha.” It came out as a single, accusatory note, Morrigan’s eyes wrinkling at the corners. “I thought it might be my imagination. You _are_ enjoying yourself.”

A soft beat of laughter rose in Leliana’s throat. “Perish the thought.”

“We have surely toiled enough to disappear, yet here we remain,” Morrigan said evenly. “Many guests have come and go. Eight, in fact. I have been keeping count.”

Seven, actually, on account of the elf with red hair returning after twenty or so minutes, but Leliana didn’t have the heart to tell Morrigan, not when she was looking so smug. Besides, she’d expected to suffer Morrigan’s disappointment the whole night. If speaking terms demanded letting this slide, Leliana was willing.

Beginning to lead them away from the crowds, Leliana conceded, “Perhaps we’ve stayed a bit longer than strictly necessary… All in the spirit of caution, of course.”

“Caution,” she repeated, following after Leliana with an expression of vague interest. “Is that why we are now visiting the bar?”

“We will need an excuse to slip away,” Leliana returned. A sudden departure would raise eyebrows, but no one would question a pair slipping from the group with drinks in hand before disappearing altogether. “Unless you want to find that man and let him know you’ve changed your mind about—”

“Urgh.” Wrinkling her nose, Morrigan blanched. “I would sooner drink bogwater.”

“We’re on someone else’s tab, Morrigan. Surely we can find you something better than that.”

That provoked a scoff, but Leliana supposed it was better than the dead silences she’d gotten before.

As they approached the dark wood bar, the server fixed them with an empty stare from behind his full mask. Motioning for him to give them a moment, Leliana turned her attention to the lines of bottles set out for display at the bartender’s back.

The Pearl prided itself on its vast collection of liquors and wines, and the circular bar showcased more types than Leliana could count. There were Tevinter malts, Neverran vintages, and even a couple of clear bottles simply labelled _Par Vollen._ There was no set menu, but there had yet to be a drink the servers here couldn’t make.

Overwhelming was putting it mildly, and that was assuming Morrigan knew anything about cocktails. After watching her squint at the bottles for about ten seconds, Leliana offered, “I have a favorite, if you’d care to try it.”

“Yes, very well,” Morrigan said immediately. “Anything is fine.”

“Two Divers, lime garnish, please,” Leliana said, turning back to the bartender. “Under Valard.”

He didn’t move for a moment, perhaps surprised she knew of the drink at all. Regular patrons learned of the special drinks unique to The Pearl through coaxing the secret from others, and Leliana had been around long enough to learn them all. This one was her favorite though, the drink she’d ordered for years, down to the specifications.

The bartender finally nodded, signaling he understood, and began to gather the ingredients.

As he worked on that, Leliana leaned against the dark wood and looked Morrigan over, head to toe. “It’s a good thing you said something when you did. I get the feeling you wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”

“I _don’t_ mingle.” The way she said it sounded distinctly like an agreement. Morrigan moved forward more cautiously, setting her bare palms on the edge of the bar as if to test whether they’d stick. When she found there was no unseen coat of grime, she relaxed somewhat and turned her gaze on Leliana, saying, “It is a wonder you can find anything worth saying to these people.”

“They’re not all so bad.” Where the past hour had drained Morrigan, Leliana felt refreshed, talkative even. Never in her wildest dreams would she have guessed things would go so well, and her chest was buoyant with delight. “Well. Most of them are that bad, but not everyone.”

Skeptical was a generous word for the way Morrigan looked at Leliana.

Shrugging, Leliana said, “I met a smuggler on a job here once—Isabela. She wasn’t actually a smuggler, though. Really, she was more of a pirate who was working over just about all of her employers.”

“Yours included?” Some shrewdness or serendipity kept Marjolaine’s name from Morrigan’s lips.

“Yeah. Once it came out that she was screwing us over, I was sent here with the order to straighten her out. Of course, at that time I didn’t know she had a real fondness for knives.” Everything felt far off, like she was remembering another life, but a smile still crept onto her lips. “Pretty sure I’ve still got some scars to prove it.”

Morrigan’s regard was palpable, her eyes moving along the lines of Leliana’s body like she was imagining the sight. Finally, she stopped on her sleeve, where Leliana’s Lyrium blade was hidden, and said, “What a curious thing to smile about.”

With a shrug, Leliana said, “She was alright. After we sorted out the business—”

“With knives,” Morrigan reminded her.

“Yeah. After we got that out of the way, we ended up working together from time to time. Once, when we were in Antiva—” The bartender said nothing, but his return yanked Leliana from her story just long enough for him to nod and present two orange drinks, a wedge of lime on the rim of each glass. “Ah, thank you.”

Employees were normally taciturn—unless they were in the business of pleasure—but this one maintained his silence even through her thanks, only watching as Leliana picked up their drinks and pointed out a set of couches at the fringes of the crowd.

Leliana continued with her story, citing a feud between two merchant families, a gala, and a once in a lifetime opportunity to embarrass an old rival. Morrigan didn’t speak throughout the story, only following along with occasional _hm_ s. Settling into their spot, she reached for one of the drinks in Leliana’s hands, relieving her of it without interrupting.

“Anyway, long story short, she promised me a place on her ship if I ever wanted it, which is—I think—the nicest thing anyone at The Pearl has ever done for me.”

As Leliana finished, Morrigan hummed thoughtfully and brought her drink to her lips. Her brows lifted as she tasted it, a slow smile curling at her mouth, and some of the tension seemed to bleed from her shoulders.

“You approve?”

“I may need another,” Morrigan said, taking another swig, this one longer than the one before.

“Oh, we will have a chance for that afterwards.” Leliana took a self-congratulatory sip of her own; even despite her more recent forays into whiskey alone, she was still quite the connoisseur. “I still need you on your toes, at least until the work is done.”

“A pity,” Morrigan said. “Very well. What next?”

“From here we’ll need to get to the third floor. It’s going to be more heavily guarded than this was,” Leliana said. Canted toward each other and seated so close, they must have resembled two girls swapping secrets. “Those are the private quarters above, but I think I know the office we need. Even if the personnel change, the rooms usually don’t.”

“And if you are wrong?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Already her mind was turning with possibilities. As long as she wasn’t recognized, as long as this didn’t get back to Marjolaine, the rest could be handled.

Through the subtle haze of cigar smoke, the scent of Morrigan’s perfume was wildflowers in bloom. Just as surprising was the distance evaporating between them, Morrigan drifting closer as if drawn by some unseen gravity. Thin fingers touched Leliana’s shoulder, featherlight.

Leliana didn’t move, searching for an explanation in Morrigan’s face, so close to her own. “Morrigan?”

A subtle pursing of the lips was the only warning Leliana received before Morrigan’s hands found the knot of her tie. Adjusting it so it was snug against her throat, Morrigan allowed her touch to linger over Leliana’s collar, smoothing some imperceptible wrinkle from the fabric there. “Confidence suits you.”

For a moment, all Leliana could do was stare. Then: “That's the second time you've complimented me tonight.”

With a smile and a sound of indifference, Morrigan leaned back into her seat. “Take it as you will.”

“I’m more concerned with what comes next. Should I expect the cold shoulder? More disappointment? Tell me now so I can prepare.”

Though it was tempered with a smile, there was some truth to Leliana’s jest. The two of them had gone hot and cold all night, and Leliana wasn’t sure she could handle much more of it.

Morrigan didn’t recoil—which Leliana took as a good sign that her joke had been received as such—but only sipped her drink, nearing the halfway point impressively fast. “Hmph. Will you resume your ceaseless agonizing now that things are going exactly to plan?”

Ah. Point taken. So Leliana wasn’t the only one with a case of whiplash.

“It’s been a stressful night,” Leliana offered, following Morrigan’s example with the drinks.

“With an unfortunate beginning, yes.” Over the rim of her glass, Morrigan’s eyes narrowed, something pensive swirling in that gaze. An uncomfortable itch crawled across the back of Leliana’s neck, and she hoped that Morrigan was not going to do what she thought she—“I wonder at what you meant before. When you so meekly declared yourself prey.”

Usually, people avoided tense subjects. Morrigan, it seemed, had not gotten the memo.

Stalling to formulate a suitably noncommittal response, Leliana took another swallow, rum and orange and lime all mixing on her tongue. Clearing her throat, she finally decided on, “It was only a figure of speech, Morrigan.”

Just as before, there was a precision to Morrigan’s gaze now. Combined with that untempered curiosity, it all but flayed Leliana before her, leaving her abdomen open for inspection. Even without Morrigan saying it, Leliana knew her answer fell short beneath that stare.

A grudging part of Leliana conceded: given polish with time and training, she would have made a truly wonderful player.

Unblinking, Morrigan said, “Even so, I am curious as to your perspective. You fear that woman very much, but still you are here. I have wondered… What it is you plan to do once we meet her face to face.”

Without missing a beat, Leliana said, “Assuming we need to.”

Just as quickly, Morrigan returned, “You would return to Lothering without ever seeking out your oppressor?”

Leliana’s gaze remained fixed on her drink, despite the lack of answers in the shaved ice and the fruity cocktail. After a moment that dragged like nails down her ribs, Leliana said, “No.”

Something that might have been approval touched Morrigan’s placid expression. “Then?”

“You know, I was just starting to enjoy the night, Morrigan.” Leliana sighed. She drained the rest of her drink and set the glass aside. “I… Want to see her.”

The glimmers of what might have been approval vanished, a candle’s flame snuffed out with a single breath. In its place, revulsion flared bright. “Surely you do not hope to rekindle your romance?”

Leliana shot her a glare as sharp as the dagger humming softly against her forearm. The notion was absurd, nauseating even. It crept across Leliana’s skin like a thousand insects with razor blades attached to their limbs.

After cruelty like hers, Leliana could never love Marjolaine again, never even trust her, but.

There was one thing she still desired of Marjolaine.

“I want to know why she did it.” Leliana forced the emotion from her voice, her expression schooled into neutrality. “And if she regrets it. If she cared at all.”

The letters Marjolaine used to condemn her were the same she’d signed with _my dearest love,_ but that along with her alias had been scrubbed from the paper trail. It made her unrecognizable to Leliana, like something dark and horned had opened up her spine and sutured itself inside.

Morrigan’s tone was measured, her gaze assessing. “And if you find her unrepentant?”

If truth be told, there was a substantial part of her that doubted they would even get that far, knowing the odds they were up against. The rest of her… Well, to say she hadn’t decided felt too intimate a secret to share, especially here.

Clearing her throat, Leliana adopted a lighter tone. “You have taken quite an interest in my plans, Morrigan.”

As if it were obvious, Morrigan said, “It is an unnatural thing, what you are doing. That merits curiosity.”

“Unnatural?”

“That woman holds power over you, and in this world, power is everything. The weak are crushed beneath the foot of the strong, and go meekly to their graves, much like you were doing in Lothering.” Morrigan fixed her with a knowing look then, and Leliana felt herself bristle, the beginnings of shame lodged in her throat. Before she could muster some defense, Morrigan continued, “The two of us number among the small few who rebel against this law. Take pride in that.”

“I didn’t realize you considered us so similar, Morrigan.” She had alluded to as much on their first meeting, but Leliana had half believed that was a ploy to enlist her more easily by fostering some sort of kinship. What was it she’d said? Something about both of them wanting to get out from beneath the thumb of someone. Leliana asked, “Who is it? For you, I mean.”

“Hmph. An old woman, well past her time.” Morrigan finished her drink, setting aside the empty glass as Leliana had with her own. With nothing at hand to distract herself, she wove her fingers together over her thigh, saying, “She is powerful though, which is why I must have those artefacts.”

Gears cranked in Leliana’s head. There was something conspiratorial to her words, but beneath that, a line of true necessity. Whatever the true story behind those artefacts, Morrigan wasn’t lying about needing them.

“We’ll find them.”

Morrigan smirked, clicking her tongue. “Such sweet promises.”  

With both of their drinks finished, Leliana saw no reason not to make good on that promise now. The heat of Morrigan’s proximity disappeared as Leliana stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her suit and then offering a hand to Morrigan. “Come on. Time to get to work.”

A mix of surprise and intrigue crossed Morrigan’s face, but she accepted Leliana’s help, pulling herself to her feet. Face to face, it was impossible not to notice the faint color across the bridge of her nose. Whether it was a product of the alcohol or something else entirely, Morrigan said, “I look forward to seeing you in action.”

There were two guards with corded muscle just beneath their suits waiting at the base of the stairs, but Leliana merely opened her blazer to reveal the cigarette pack within the breast pocket.

“Need some air,” was all she said.

The roof was a popular place to smoke—no one of status would suffer the crowds for a cigarette—and Leliana did the math: if they were back quick enough, no one would bat an eye.

The guards looked at each other and then back down at the two of them, probably memorizing their masks in case a question was raised later, but then one of them motioned them through.

Side by side, they took the stairs, Leliana’s hands twitching, confidence warming her blood. Seven minutes. She thought that seven minutes was ample time to get in, find the records of where the artefacts had gone, get out, and still not raise any suspicions.

So caught up in her scheme, she almost didn’t see the small entourage beginning down the stairs. It was only pure chance she managed to look up just in time, staggering to a halt before a group of four.

“Oh!” the one at the front laughed, a broad grin showing all his teeth. He was the only one not wearing a full-mask, and his Ferelden accent matched the green and white of his half-mask. “Maker, it is you!”

Leliana stared, mouth full of nothing, as someone she absolutely did not recognize reached out to clap her on the shoulder like an old friend. Morrigan shot her a look as though demanding an explanation, but Leliana had none to give.

“Forgive me.” Her eyes flickered to the other three, finding two guards flanking the man and one smaller figure bringing up the rear. Leliana had seen that one before… The bartender? “I don’t think we’ve met, sir.”

“Harwen Raleigh,” he finished for her. It didn’t ring a bell, but the imposing way the two guards stepped forward to close off the way down the stairs set off alarms in Leliana’s head. With a chuckle, Harwen said, “No, I don’t think you would know me, but I know you, songbird. What would Marjolaine think, knowing her favorite pet came sniffing while she was elsewhere?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last of the commissioned chapters for now lads! i hope you've been enjoying them so far! :)
> 
> on that note, i'll definitely be taking a break(???) for the month of november to compete in NaNoWriMo, so it'll likely be pretty quiet around here for a while
> 
> (IF U WANNA HMU AFTER NOVEMBER FOR A CONTINUATION THO, MY TUMBLR IS LIONSENPAI AND MY COMMISSION PRICES ARE IN MY SIDEBAR, THANKS FOR YOUR TIME)


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